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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949190">Feed the Wretches Well</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks'>CocksAndClocks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Mentions, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Comedy of Errors, Crude Humor, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Found Family, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, bad descriptions of food, death mention, ironwitch is secondary, some Ozpin &amp; Oscar bonding, some timey-wimey things with some of the kids' ages for plot convenience, the celebrity chef AU no one asked for</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:27:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>47,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now I know that all men are monsters […] The only thing to do is to feed the wretches well. A good cook does wonders.” - Oscar Wilde, <em>Lady Windermere’s Fan</em></p><p>In the realm of celebrity chefs, Ozpin Pine has made a name of himself as a renown French restaurateur. Fame comes with a cost, however. Despite his successes, Ozpin’s world is limited to his restaurants and those who work with him. Faced with a new viral food critic, Ozpin struggles with an identity tied to his career and a new man in his life who highlights his personal loneliness. But what happens when that love interest and the critic are one and the same?</p><p>Day 1 of OzQrow Week 2020: technology</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen/Ozpin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to our first foray into fandom ship weeks! The prompt for this was "magic/technology," so here is a story about the dangers of going viral.</p><p>Apologies in advance for any errors in French.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glynda Goodwitch walked into the kitchen of <em>L'oeillet Vert</em> with a pair of wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, ignoring the bursts of steam from the ovens and stovetops, the shouts of chefs and waitstaff, the clatter of metal utensils and frantic bodies that moved aside, sweeping trays avoiding her path. Her heels clicked on the tile, turning on one when she reached the center of the kitchen, adjusting her glasses as she observed the organized chaos that parted for her.</p><p>The executive chef shot her a critical glance from above neat gold glasses as she settled atop a clean prep counter, placing glassware and wine beside her.</p><p>“Any other chef worth his salt would throw you out,” he said, with a hint of a French accent, “for daring to put <em>that</em> on one of my prep stations.”</p><p>“Your prep station is honored,” Glynda retorted, pouring wine into her glass. “Aren’t you done yet, Ozpin? You said nine o’clock.”</p><p>“Nearly,” he said, his knife expertly moving over a raw tenderloin. </p><p>“That’s what you said an hour ago. Let me guess – you’re waxing a table for someone important who walked in last minute.”</p><p>“Am I really so vain?” he asked, chuckling as he tossed the diced meat into a bowl damp with condensation. </p><p>“You’re French,” Glynda said. “Pretentiousness comes with the nationality.”</p><p>“And generalizations come with being American, it seems. Is that a bottle of Opium?”</p><p>“If you weren’t so late, I would have stuck to something domestic. Do you want some?”</p><p>“Ozpin!”</p><p>A boy hurried in, a tray under his arm, breathlessly halting before them, giving a short, comical bow as though Ozpin were a king. Glynda pressed her lips together to avoid laughing, raising the wineglass.</p><p>“The mayor – ”</p><p>“Oscar.”</p><p>The waiter fell silent, looking self-conscious. He swallowed and took a long breath. “Yes, Chef. Sorry, Chef. Table 37 sends their compliments.”</p><p>“Thank you, Oscar. You may tell them it is my pleasure.” Without another word, Ozpin returned to the task at hand.</p><p>Oscar hesitated for only a moment before nodding and scurrying off, tray still in hand.</p><p>Glynda laughed lowly into her wine. “Mayor Schnee, hmm?”</p><p>Ozpin’s lips twitched as he tossed the meat in the bowl. “Perhaps someone important walked in at the last minute.”</p><p>“Hasn’t he been impeached for something yet?”</p><p>“I don’t think they impeach mayors.”</p><p>“Don’t they?”</p><p><em>“Mon chere,</em> you’re the American.”</p><p>“You had to take one of those exams for citizenship. You would know better.”</p><p>Ozpin laughed. “In any case, he’s worth keeping me for another hour.”</p><p>“That’s why I drink your good wine: you keep me waiting.”</p><p>“By the way, I will have a glass. Because it’s the good wine.”</p><p>“I thought you hated Schnee.”</p><p>“Hate requires energy,” Ozpin said cryptically. <em>”He</em> hates everything.”</p><p>“And so you derive pleasure from eliciting compliments from him.”</p><p>“There is something very powerful about compliments from a man determined to dislike everything.”</p><p>“And you prepared it yourself, so there is your pride.”</p><p>Ozpin laughed. “There is that.”</p><p>“Speaking of pride, I see Oscar is…well. The poor thing,” she said. “He’s terrified of you.”</p><p>“Why should he be?” Ozpin asked, shaping the seasoned meat on two bone white plates. </p><p>“Because you’re the great and powerful Chef Ozpin,” she said, placing a wineglass on his prep counter. </p><p>Ozpin rolled his eyes. “I just enjoy food.”</p><p>“And your cookbooks, and your Food Network specials, and your – ”</p><p>“What is your point?”</p><p>“You can’t deny you’re a celebrity chef. Of course he’s starstruck.”</p><p>“Order up for Table 37,” Ozpin said, sliding the plate to his sous chef. He wiped his hands on his apron and picked up the wineglasses, swirling it absently. “He’ll soon learn I’m as human as anyone else.”</p><p>Glynda hummed, unconvinced. “So you never met him before?”</p><p>“A few times, when he was very young. He’s my second or third cousin, removed once or twice. Salem was always fond of him. And we’ve been divorced for years. Half his age, perhaps.”</p><p>“How is Salem?”</p><p>“Oh, she’s doing well,” Ozpin said, offhandedly. “She has some new charity project helping the homeless.”</p><p>“Still in France?”</p><p>“Last I heard.”</p><p>Glynda dropped the subject of his ex-wife, hearing the note of discomfort in his voice. </p><p>“You know how these things are,” he said, too softly to be overheard over the kitchen clamor. “She’s done her best to forgive me, but it’s still…” His brows furrowed.</p><p>“You’re not friends, but not enemies,” Glynda finished, clinking her glass against his. “That’s a good divorce, by most standards.”</p><p>“Exactly that,” Ozpin said, sipping his wine. “And so, if I can do a favor for my second cousin thrice removed, it’s a small thing.”</p><p>“And yet here he is, working as a waiter instead of a cook.”</p><p>Ozpin let out a faint scoff. “I can hardly let an inexperienced eighteen-year-old loose in my kitchen. I can’t let my beef be diced irregularly.”</p><p><em>“Vieil homme méchant,”</em> Glynda announced, dusting off what little French she knew, if only to insult her boss.</p><p><em>“Oui.</em> Alas.” Ozpin shrugged.</p><p>“What is he going to learn as a waiter?”</p><p>“Familiarity with my restaurant. He’ll start there.”</p><p>“Waiting tables.”</p><p>“Just as I did,” Ozpin said, untying his apron. “Maybe my kitchen can survive a few hours tonight without me.” He eyed Glynda as though just seeing her, an eyebrow rising when he noticed the slim black dress she wore. “You intend to impress tonight.”</p><p>“As though I don’t any other time,” Glynda remarked. “Besides, I want to make an impression on your boys’ club my first time.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Ozpin said, leaning against the counter, sipping his wine. “It’s not exactly a boys’ club now that you’re a part of it.”</p><p>Glynda snorted. “If anything, at least one person there will have some balls.”</p><p>Ozpin made a noise that sounded like inhaling wine; he cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose, pressing lips together to avoid laughing at her crude joke.</p><p>“Anyway, I never really called it your boys’ club.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“It’s the Whiny Chef’s Club.”</p><p>“We don’t <em>whine,”</em> Ozpin whined.</p><p>Glynda rolled her eyes. “Prove it. Can we go now?”</p><p>Ozpin glanced at the rest of the kitchen, the clamor quieting after the dinner rush. “I suppose now is fine,” he said.</p><p>“Thank goodness.”</p><p>“Chef! Table 37 would like to extend their personal compliments.”</p><p>Glynda let out an exasperated sound. “Ozpin – ”</p><p>“One minute,” Ozpin said, putting his hands up as in surrender. </p><p>Glynda groaned dramatically, leaning back on the countertop and pouring another glass of his expensive wine, determined to drink half of it before he returned.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>There were, Glynda decided, happily feeling the wine warm her blood against the chill of the evening, certain downsides to working for a celebrity chef. Ozpin Pine, the young man who years ago made a household name for himself in the manner of Gordon Ramsay and Julia Child, was perhaps not the worst of them (although, Glynda often grumbled, when Ozpin particularly tested her patience, she had heard very good things about working for Chef Ramsay). Ozpin owned a number of restaurants in the usual affluent areas of New York, Chicago, Las Vegas – but <em>L'oeillet Vert</em> in San Francisco was his baby, an establishment into which he had poured more time and energy and money than all the rest, alarming Glynda, his longtime pâtissier, when he abruptly announced he intended to remain.<p>“Here? Permanently?” she had asked him, as they stood in the dining room of <em>L'oeillet Vert,</em> the night before the grand opening. She cast her eyes over the vaulted, gilded ceiling, the great marble columns and emerald green carpets, the frond leaves that acted as a buffer between guests in a castle and the kitchens that would produce their feasts. “It looks like Oscar Wilde designed it.”</p><p>Ozpin smiled widely at her. <em>“C’est parfait.</em> You will love it here. We will have green carnations cut fresh every evening.”</p><p>And he sauntered off, oblivious to her open mouth, the bold assumption that she would remain with him in this unknown city, and any questions she may have had regarding the specific significance of green carnations.</p><p>But the perks of working for Ozpin Pine –</p><p>“I brought another bottle of Opium,” he said, joining her outside on the sidewalk, gently shaking a brown paper bag, “since you were cruel enough to drink the other without me.”</p><p>Glynda giggled. “Only half of it. I gave the rest to your unfortunate cousin to drink after closing. The poor thing earned it.”</p><p>“Is he of age?”</p><p>“I don’t know. He’s <em>your</em> cousin.”</p><p>“Perhaps we should not be getting my young staff drunk with expensive wine?” Ozpin said dryly, offering his arm to her.</p><p>Pretentious ass or not, at least he was a gentleman.</p><p>“Should I have offered him a Coors Light instead?”</p><p>“You wound me.”</p><p>“Better that he drinks the good French stuff to refine his palate early.”</p><p>“It’s a Spanish wine – ”</p><p>“Do you ever turn off?” Glynda snapped, as they waited for a red light to change. “Or do you do nothing at home but read haughty cooking magazines?”</p><p>“You’re in a rare mood tonight.”</p><p>Glyhda sighed. “I’m sorry. I worry about you, you know. You don’t have many friends.”</p><p>“What is tonight, then? A meeting of strangers?”</p><p>“All right, fine. But how many of them have you invited to your house? Seen a movie with? Sometimes I think you’re lonely, Ozpin.”</p><p>She waited for the rebuttal, but instead met with silence. She glanced up to find Ozpin looking at her with a surprised expression.</p><p>“Wait, am I right?”</p><p>“You’re projecting a little,” Ozpin said, “but I suppose I could stand to have more close friends than my pâtissier.” </p><p>“Maybe we both need to get laid.”</p><p>Ozpin laughed aloud, pulling her forward into the crosswalk.</p><p>“That’s not a ‘no.’”</p><p>Ozpin hummed noncommittally.</p><p>“You dirty old man,” Glynda said, cackling. “Anyone in mind?”</p><p>“For you?”</p><p>“Oh, we’re not talking about me, honey.”</p><p>“No, no one in particular. But I have thought…well. Seeing how old Oscar is reminds me of how long it’s been since the divorce.”</p><p>“You mean you haven’t…dated since then?”</p><p>“Who has the time?” Ozpin said, shrugging.</p><p>“What about someone in the Whiny Chef Club?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Ozpin said, laughing again. <em>“Absolument pas.”</em></p><p>“You don’t sell your friends at a high price,” Glynda remarked. </p><p>“Perhaps one will be your taste more than mine.”</p><p>Glynda shot him a dark look, wishing she could open the wine he held and drink it straight from the bottle without getting a scandalized lecture in French. “If this is a setup, old man – ”</p><p>“No, no, merely teasing,” Ozpin said, with a chuckle to disarm her. “But you can see for yourself.” He halted, pulling her to face the end building that had previously blended into the background of the dark streets. She eyed the uninspired white Victorian structure, the peacock blue trim that lead to a large sign in calligraphy-style font.</p><p>
  <em>The Axe and the Blunderbuss.</em>
</p><p>“Charming,” she said dryly. “It looks like an old closet.”</p><p>“And you call me judgmental,” Ozpin said, with a smile. “It’s lovely inside.”</p><p>He pushed the door open and dragged her behind him, into a small pub of clear age, warm mahogany walls, booths lined in wine-colored velvet leading up to an impressive bar. Large black signs boosted dozens of ales in bold white lettering in front of lines of scotch, whiskey, and British gin. Above the bar, mismatched pewter steins hung beside great stuffed game heads and an out-of-place sports banner. Every booth was occupied, the bar crowded and echoing with raucous laughter, Ozpin pulling Glynda through the busy pub, unconcerned with the darts that whizzed by their ears. They paused in the throngs at the bar, Ozpin motioning to a red-headed bartender.</p><p>Immediately, he put down the beer stein and waved at them to follow him beyond the bar. A disgruntled patron opened his mouth to protest his lack of ale, the words drowned in the noise and the realization that flickered over his face.</p><p>“Is that Ozpin Pine?”</p><p>Ozpin gave no notice that he heard, even though Glynda knew he would be pleased by the recognition. This long as a celebrity and he still preened with every moment of acclaim. She rolled her eyes as the bartender ushered them into a back room, the door closing on the clamor and crowds of the pub.</p><p>“Ah, Ozpin, you’re finally here,” came a smooth male voice, Glynda peering around Ozpin’s too-tall form. “How are you?”</p><p>
  <em>“Comme d’hab.”</em>
</p><p>This room boasted the same décor as the pub, but with an opulence that clearly marked it as a VIP sort of space. A few men sat around a dark wooden table, faces illuminated by a low chandelier, oversized chairs almost like thrones adorned with plush velvet pillows and tassels, as though each man was some manner of Scottish king, conversing away from the distraction of the peasants in the pub outside.</p><p>“Boys,” Glynda drawled, scanning the room, reluctantly agreeing with Ozpin about its unexpected merits. “Nice digs.”</p><p>“Gentlemen, my date for the evening,” Ozpin said, his accent making the statement almost too flirty to be taken fully for a joke. “Glynda Goodwitch, my pâtissier and business partner of many years, whom I allow to do whatever she wishes. I will now revel in your envy.”</p><p>The green-haired man with glasses laughed, pushing a chair away from the table with his foot. “I’m afraid we’re quite lacking in refinement, Miss Goodwitch, but you are more than welcome.”</p><p>Introductions were made: Bart Oobleck, whose name had become synonymous with coffee in recent years, owner of a café on wheels that stalked the business executives of the city to provide extremely caffeinated beverages. And James Ironwood, owner of the Iron Blade, San Francisco’s most elite sushi bar, who looked less like a chef and more like a military officer with his stern eye and strictly pressed seams. And the owner of the Axe and the Blunderbuss himself –</p><p>“You’ll have to forgive Peter,” Oobleck said, chuckling into an oversized stein. “He’s had an upset tonight.”</p><p>“Upset?” the sturdy man exclaimed, great mustache bristling. <em>“Upset?”</em></p><p>Ozpin serenely sat and unbagged the wine, unsurprised when the bartender returned to offer empty glasses and two very large beers, foam spilling over the rim.</p><p>“Thank you, Angus,” he said quietly, as Peter Port continued to rant in an impressively thick accent unlike the one she had expected.</p><p>“This – load of porkies - ! ‘e’s havin’ a bubble at my expense!”</p><p>Glynda blinked, her brain rapidly trying to translate.</p><p>“Someone is telling lies about our friend,” Ozpin murmured to her, sliding beer and wine toward her, as though he expected her to drink both.</p><p>“I thought he was Scottish,” Glynda said.</p><p>“Only before three beers,” Ozpin said. Turning to the table, he shot the others a knowing look. “Is it the same man as before?”</p><p>“The same!” Port roared.</p><p>“Do tell,” Ozpin purred into his wine.</p><p>“’S’not funny!”</p><p>“Come now, gentlemen,” Ironwood said over Port’s indignation. “We’re not being very kind to Miss Goodwitch.”</p><p>“Glynda, please,” she corrected, offering him a smile for his courtesy.</p><p>She was surprised to find the smile returned, a soft expression on a face where she didn’t expect it. </p><p>“Glynda,” he repeated, and she found she liked her name on his lips very much. “Forgive them,” he added, waving a hand at the other men. “It’s a rather exciting night for us. We’ve been visited by the Grim Eater.”</p><p>Glynda blinked. “I’m going to need this wine, aren’t I?” She brought the glass to her mouth, debating whether Ozpin would chastise her for taking an obvious gulp. “Who is…the Grim Eater?”</p><p>“A food critic,” Ozpin said.</p><p>“’e’s not worth the ti’le,” Port bellowed. Oobleck gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, pushing his beer toward him as a gentle way to occupy his mouth.</p><p>“Peter is right,” Ironwood said. “Whoever he is, he’s no proper critic.”</p><p><em>“Ouais, enfin…”</em> Ozpin said, with a shrug and a sip of wine. “That does not change the fact that he calls himself such. He writes a food blog,” he added, turning partly toward Glynda, “called…<em>quel est le nom?”</em></p><p>“‘Peckish,’” Ironwood said. “A pun, maybe, because the writer is a chicken for remaining anonymous.”</p><p>“Ooo, <em>gossip,”</em> Glynda said, leaning over the table. “So…a mystery man is writing bad reviews of you all?”</p><p>“Not all,” Ironwood said, and Glynda glanced to her right to see him and Ozpin share the same smug expression. “Just two of us so far.”</p><p>“He called my Turkish coffee…<em>sludge,”</em> Oobleck said darkly, so low that Glynda barely heard him. </p><p>“It went viral,” Ironwood said. “Just on the sheer lunacy of the insults he lobbed at Bart’s menu.”</p><p>“Half a million views in under a day,” Oobleck said, gripping his ale with tight fingers. “Ten million in a week.”</p><p>Glynda whistled. “That bad?”</p><p>Oobleck answered by taking a large gulp of ale.</p><p>“An’ now ‘e’s ‘it me,” Port said miserably, his anger deflating into defeat.</p><p>“Have I missed the reading already?” Ozpin asked.</p><p>“You took too long,” Glynda accused, tipping her glass at him. “I told you Schnee wasn’t worth it. We missed the good parts.”</p><p>“Ah, but my pride!” Ozpin said, putting a dramatic hand over his heart. “But Glynda has not heard this man’s bad poetry to food. Should we not treat her?”</p><p>“And make poor Peter relive it?” Ironwood said.</p><p>
  <em>“Allez!”</em>
</p><p>“Never thought I’d see someone make the great Ozpin Pine beg,” Glynda remarked, “except me.”</p><p>Ozpin shot her a warning glance.</p><p>Ironwood laughed. “For you, Glynda, I think Peter can handle hearing the highlights once more.”</p><p>Port grumbled into his ale, Oobleck continuing his sympathetic pats.</p><p>Ironwood cleared his throat. “‘Last weekend I was in the mood for a good drink, like any hardworking guy on a Saturday night. I called up a buddy and he suggested a place. I wanted a good bar scene. What I got was The Axe and Blunderbuss.’”</p><p>Port’s grumbling grew louder.</p><p>“‘At first I thought I was going to my grandmother’s. She’s dead, and it looked like she took the house with her. Maybe the inside was better, you know, like those dive bars that look like you’ll get stabbed, but end up having the best damn drinks in town. The dim lighting was nice until the sun poured in and Bambi’s mom’s head on the wall spotted me. Exhibitionists will enjoy because the bitch will win any staring contest, then creep you out for the whole meal. Seriously. Dead animal heads on the walls? If I didn’t get stabbed, I’d get bitten by some kind of zombie fleas the trophies carried.’”</p><p>Ozpin cleared his throat in a way that Glynda knew hid a chuckle.</p><p>“He certainly doesn’t pull his punches,” she said, finishing her wine and pushing it toward Ozpin for a refill. He shot her a look with raised eyebrows but refilled it nonetheless. From her left, Ironwood watched with appreciation.</p><p>“He doesn’t,” he said. “Of the restaurants he’s reviewed, all have been in this vein. Not a single favorable remark. It’s clear that these reviews aren’t meant to be taken seriously.”</p><p>“Serious enough!” Oobleck cried. “This is our livelihood!”</p><p>“Go on,” Port said, as the red-headed Angus reappeared with refills. He drowned himself in a fresh beer as Ironwood continued to read from his phone.</p><p>“‘We ordered the works. Gotta try everything in a real Scottish pub, right? Wrong. Worst decision my digestive system has made since Jaeger shots in college. My notes are pretty slim from that night, too focused on keeping shit down. Here are the highlights, if you wanna call them that. </p><p>“‘Haggis: I don’t know what I just ate. I don’t want to know what I just ate. If I wake up dead tomorrow, know that it was because of this dish. Someone be a bro and burn the place down. Rambutan jam toast: <em>why?</em> It tastes like lychee. Why don’t you just add Vegemite? You guys like that.’”</p><p>Ozpin snorted violently into his glass, coughing and reaching for a handkerchief to wipe the red droplets from his face.</p><p>“He’s being facetious, isn’t he?” Glynda asked. “There is no possible way a grown man mistakes a Scotsman for an Australian.”</p><p>The men all offered skeptical glances.</p><p>“It’s…difficult to say,” Ironwood said. “He skirts a line between satire and idiocy.”</p><p>“Appealing to a varied audience,” she muttered. “Clever, if it’s calculated.”</p><p>“Go on,” Ozpin said, wiping the legs from his wineglass. “He’s even harsher than before.”</p><p>Ironwood sighed, but obliged. “‘Dippy eggs and soldiers: the chef <em>has</em> to learn to cook a damn egg all the way.’”</p><p>“He’d hate your cooking,” Glynda told Ironwood. “I suppose he takes his steak well done.”</p><p>She reveled in the almost imperceptible shudder Ozpin gave at that.</p><p>“‘Pub Chips: why do you always put mushrooms in everything? Just get the powered gravy at the store. It’s smoother, and you don’t choke on ninja squish cubes.’” </p><p>“A <em>child,”</em> Port muttered. “A child wrote this.”</p><p>Glynda let out a long breath, inclined to agree.</p><p>Ironwood made a waving motion. “That’s more or less it. He offers a few more remarks on the décor, and suggests consuming an entire bottle of Tums after leaving.”</p><p>“Well,” Glynda said, into the silence that fell with the last of the reading. “Which of you is next?”</p><p>“It’s unlikely to be either of us,” Ironwood said. “He doesn’t seem to know us personally, and he has the entire city to plague. We may never be targeted.”</p><p>“I’ll not ‘ave ‘im ruin me,” Port growled.</p><p>“He won’t ruin you, Pete,” Oobleck said. “If anything, the popularity of the blog will only increase sales. I’ve had lines wrapped around the blocks every morning!”</p><p>“Oh, I know ‘e won’t ruin me,” Port said. “ANGUS!”</p><p>Glynda nearly jumped from her chair at the shout; Ozpin, unconcerned, poured himself more wine.</p><p>The bartender returned, looking vaguely frazzled to be running between owner and patrons.</p><p>“This – this <em>tripe,”</em> Port said, pointing at Ironwood’s phone. “For an’ man who shows it at th’ bar – half off a pint!”</p><p>Angus blinked. “For how long?”</p><p>“A week! E’ry man in the city will try my ale an’ love it by next Sunday!”</p><p>Angus gave a long-suffering sigh, as though these sorts of announcements were not uncommon, and he shuffled out even as Port called for a full order of appetizers to be brought in for his guests.</p><p>“Have you ever had haggis?” Glynda murmured to Ozpin, whose cheeks were beginning to pinken from the wine.</p><p>“Mmm,” he said, fixing her with a placidly tipsy glance. “It is…hmmm. How do you say…an <em>experience.”</em></p><p>Hardly reassuring, Glynda thought, wondering if the Grim Eater was right in suggesting an antacid. </p><p>Ozpin chuckled quietly at her expression, pushing the still untouched stein of ale closer to her.</p><p><em>“Au cas où,”</em> he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself, turning toward Oobleck as though to avoid any more of her hesitations to join his friends properly.</p><p>She glared at the back of his head for a moment, seizing the ale and tipping it down her throat. It wasn’t half bad, she admitted to herself, wiping her lip impolitely with her hand – good body, caramel malt, with a peaty finish, and probably hiding a much higher alcohol content than it appeared.</p><p>“I like an adventurous woman,” Ironwood’s voice broke in.</p><p>Glynda took another gulp of beer, raising an eyebrow at him. “Less adventure and more intoxication before delving into the gastronomic unknown.”</p><p>He laughed. “Don’t worry. Despite appearances, Peter is an excellent chef. The food may be an acquired taste, but you won’t regret the experience.”</p><p>“Experience,” Glynda drawled. “That’s what Ozpin called it.”</p><p>Ironwood hummed, his eyes flickered to her boss. “You seem very…comfortable with Ozpin. I’ve never seen him wait on someone like he does you.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, I’ve tremendous power over him. I drink his good wine and tell him exactly what I think. Tonight I even walked into his kitchen, in heels, and sat on his countertop.”</p><p>Ironwood looked at her as though he wasn’t sure if she was joking.</p><p>“That…” He shook his head. “It’s almost as though you’re his boss, and not the other way around.”</p><p>“You make that sound like a bad thing.”</p><p>“No, no. It’s just that not many are that at ease with him.”</p><p>“You all are.”</p><p>“Well. It took some coaxing to get him to open up to us. You know how he is. Clever and polite and completely dismissive of saying anything remotely personal.”</p><p>Glynda laughed. “Exactly that.” Her fingers played on the handle of her stein. “You’re wondering <em>how</em> close we are.”</p><p>“I don’t mean to pry.”</p><p>“Yes, you do,” Glynda said, with another laugh. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>Ironwood’s lips twitched.</p><p>“I’ve known him for…close to twenty years, I think. Over fifteen as his pâtissier, nine as his business partner. I can’t say when we became friends. I think that sort of thing takes a long time for him.”</p><p>“Do you know his wife?”</p><p>“We met once or twice, but she wasn’t interested in his business. Maybe that’s when we became friends. When she left.”</p><p>Ironwood waited patiently for her to continue.</p><p>She offered him a smile. “You’re waiting for me to say whether I’ve slept with him.”</p><p>He laughed. “Am I so obvious?”</p><p>“Would it matter?”</p><p>“I’m not in the habit of causing waves within good friendships by courting exes.”</p><p>“Are you planning to court me, James?”</p><p>“If you’re not opposed to the idea.”</p><p>“I’ve never slept with Ozpin,” she said. “Have you?”</p><p>Ironwood spluttered into his beer, wiping his mouth with a laugh. </p><p>“No, no,” he said, chuckling. “Very straight, myself.”</p><p>“That’s a shame.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Sometimes it’s not so bad.”</p><p>She laughed. “Very smooth,” she said. “But no, I’m Ozpin’s friend and nothing else. After the divorce, he swore off women. Of course, he doesn’t date men either from what I know, so perhaps he’s determined to be alone forever. A wise decision, likely, but not one I share.”</p><p>“What good news,” he said, with a private smile.</p><p>The bartender burst in then, arms full of plates of what Glynda hoped was a first, pleasant step into traditional Scottish cuisine. </p><p>“Now yer in fo’ a treat!” Port cried. “Come, eat! Who’s in need of another round?”</p><p>Ozpin pushed his empty wine glass aside, motioning as though words eluded him.</p><p>
  <em>“Je voudrais un verre.”</em>
</p><p>“When you lose your English, that’s when I cut you off,” Glynda said.</p><p>He rolled his eyes at her. “It is a <em>party,</em> Glynda. One glass is not bad. It gives you more time to flirt.”</p><p>Now Glynda rolled her eyes. “One,” she said.</p><p>He smiled like a child getting away with a great prank, but she couldn’t quite shake a sense of foreboding this evening had brought. </p><p>“You really aren’t afraid?” she asked.</p><p>“Of?”</p><p>“This blog. The man writing for an audience of ten million.”</p><p>Ozpin hummed. “Should I be? I have more customers than that.”</p><p>“You’re impossible. You don’t think he might visit you?”</p><p>“He wouldn’t dare,” Ozpin said, and happily accepted the beer Angus brought, an end to a conversation barely begun.</p><p>Glynda sighed.</p><p>Perhaps he was right. A single bad review, viral or not, wouldn’t hurt Ozpin’s business. But his pride?</p><p>She watched him laugh at something Oobleck said, cheeks flushed a healthy pink, relaxed, content.</p><p>There was more to him than his restaurant, but he wasn’t ready to admit it to her or himself.</p><p>In that regard, she worried about this critic very much, and what that might do to him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Grim Eater strikes again with a new victim; Ozpin realizes his loneliness extends further than he expected and Oscar feels the consequences.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the industrial chic dining area of the Iron Blade a month later, Ozpin poked at his sake nigiri with a pair of steel chopsticks, listening to James Ironwood fume. </p><p>Everything about that evening had promised great fun; Port and Oobleck were in rare form, entertaining them all with wild stories about their floods of customers following the terrible reviews of <em>Peckish.</em> James had personally prepared them a great feast of a sushi boat, with cuts of fish Ozpin couldn’t immediately identify, several bottles of exclusive sake open and flowing. Glynda had come again, gracing them all with another of her slinky dresses and smiles that charmed all the men (Ozpin was grateful, at times, that he was quite sure of his being gay, or else Glynda’s obvious charms could have made for difficult business practices).</p><p>The poor General, as they called James Ironwood (one was always quite certain that he must have had some manner of military experience for his strict demeanor and tendency toward stiff clothing and spotlessly modern décor) was clearly Glynda’s latest casualty, his eyes lighting up when she arrived, Ozpin almost invisible beside the appeal of blonde curls and glossed pink lips. </p><p>Ego notwithstanding, Ozpin regarded their obvious attraction with some misgivings. Certainly they seemed a good match, and Ozpin would be happy if Glynda was happy; but it only cast a brighter light on the remark that Glynda had made some weeks ago, an offhanded comment that had lingered within him, resurfacing as a quiet ache when he watched Glynda smile in that way, taking the offered hand that James held out to her.</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes I think you’re lonely, Ozpin.</em>
</p><p>An annoying mantra that came to him when he should be happy with his friends’ fortune. </p><p>Still, there was time later for self-pity, and not when a talented friend had gone to such trouble to make them dinner and drinks. At least, that had been the intent, until James received a text, informing him that a new edition of <em>Peckish</em> had been posted.</p><p>“Oo,” Glynda cooed, pouring herself more sake. “Any place we know?”</p><p>James didn’t answer immediately, pausing long enough that the laughter and chatter died entirely.</p><p>“James?” Ozpin asked at length.</p><p>“Mine,” he said. “He reviewed…me.”</p><p>Oobleck let out a long breath. Port drank his glass of sake like a shot, reaching for the bottle.</p><p>“We don’t have to read it,” Ozpin said, despite the itching need to know exactly what had been said. “Pretend we did not know of it.”</p><p>“I know you’re all dying to,” James said, trying to instill a note of humor into his voice and failing. </p><p>“Let me,” Glynda said, taking the phone from him and shooting Ozpin a look.</p><p>He understood the meaning; she would edit, omit, spare James’ feelings, and under no circumstance was Ozpin to find a word of it amusing.</p><p>He believed the English word was <em>buzzkill.</em></p><p>He sighed, seizing a generous piece of akami. He had, after getting spectacularly drunk at the Axe and Blunderbuss last month, promised himself to indulge in moderation this time, but now it seemed clear that the food and drink were offered amidst a dead atmosphere with little hope of recovery.</p><p>He pushed his cup toward Oobleck when he and Port opened a second bottle.</p><p>“‘I know I just reviewed a place last week, but after eating at the Iron Blade, I felt compelled by a sense of duty to warn the general public,’” Glynda read. “‘Let’s start with how the place looks – steel and soulless, like I walked into the kitchen instead of the dining area.’”</p><p>Ozpin, Oobleck, and Port ate and drank in silence, listening to the increasingly cruel description of their friend’s restaurant, their chopsticks and cups the only sound beneath Glynda’s voice. Some of the critique might have been vaguely based on fact (“the menu is less a menu and more an interpretation of <em>War and Peace</em> but with a thousand types of fish”); some was meant merely to insult (“my date ordered four dishes and absolutely nothing touched a stovetop or oven. Does the chef even know how to <em>cook?”</em>); others were nonsensical, such as an entire paragraph devoted to the Grim Eater’s disdain for lychee – the fruit and anything marginally flavored by it.</p><p>“I spent two hundred bucks on inedible food. I’d get supermarket sushi before coming here again. Hell, I’d risk picking up raw shit at a gas station and let the salmonella finish me off as a mercy killing. If there were no other restaurants in the world and I was dying of starvation, I’d have to seriously consider between eating my own arm and coming here again and spending a fortune on overpriced, frostbitten sushi.”</p><p>Three men sucked in audible breaths at that remark.</p><p>Ozpin shook his head; even if he had wished to laugh, accusing a man of serving frozen fish was beyond the realm of civilization.</p><p>Throughout the reading, James remained stoic, one hand clasped around his untouched sake.</p><p>The party, as Ozpin expected, effectively died.</p><p>They lingered for another half an hour, clamoring reassurances and dismissals of anonymous men online, finishing their dinner too quickly and having too many drinks, but at length it was obvious that none of it was welcome, and so they made excuses to go, promising to get together again soon, when their evening was not darkened by a stranger’s cruel words.</p><p>Glynda remained behind; Ozpin was grateful that she would so that he didn’t have to. He murmured her a goodbye and kissed her cheek, hurriedly putting on his coat and following Oobleck and Port outside to wait in the cold for the car service.</p><p>“The Grim Eater lives up to his name, yes?” Ozpin said, the words escaping his lips in a damp white cloud.</p><p>Oobleck shrugged. “I know it hurts to hear at first,” he said, “but if anything, this is an advertisement. James’ll be swamped for a month after this.”</p><p>“These reviews are that good for business?”</p><p>“Aye,” Port said, not intoxicated enough to have lost his faux Scottish accent. “The Axe is filled ev’ry night. Canna keep the kegs filled.”</p><p>“Hmm. Perhaps I should invite this man to my restaurant,” Ozpin joked.</p><p>“Maybe we should throw him a party for all the money he’s made us,” Oobleck said with a grin.</p><p>“Dunno if I like ‘im that much,” Port grumbled. “And James certainly don’t.”</p><p>“Pride before the fall,” Ozpin said, as their car rolled silently up to the curb. “But alas, our evening is cut short before midnight.”</p><p>“Pete and I were thinking cards and drinks at my place,” Oobleck said. “You in?”</p><p>“I’ve had too much to drink to be fool enough to play for money,” Ozpin said, laughing. “Another time.”</p><p>But what would he do, if not spend the early morning hours with friends as he planned? The car dropped him off first, his big house with no one within. </p><p>
  <em>What now?</em>
</p><p>He thought of James, unfortunate enough to be a victim of an irrational critic but lucky to have a lover at his side to comfort him. He thought of Oscar, the little boy who was now practically a man, waiting tables, talking about enrolling in culinary school.</p><p>So many years since Salem left. So many years alone.</p><p>He collapsed on his sofa, kicking his shoes gracelessly with his feet, unlocking his mobile. What did lonely men do to quell their loneliness? Dating apps? </p><p>As though he could put his own photos up without being accused of – <em>what was the word?</em> – catfishing.</p><p>And if he confirmed his identity, how many men would meet simply because his face had graced television? How many men would care beyond the fame? The money?</p><p>He sighed.</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes I think you’re lonely, Ozpin.</em>
</p><p>As if there was anything to be done about <em>that.</em></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ozpin Pine was in a mood.<p>Oscar Pine knew it the moment he stepped into <em>L'oeillet Vert,</em> the kitchen staff tense and quiet beyond the necessary calls and confirmations of orders, the clash of pots and pans. He caught the eye of another waiter and asked the question with his expression.</p><p>“Tread lightly,” Jaune Arc murmured, pausing with his arms full with dishes going out. “Boss isn’t happy.”</p><p>“Did something happen?”</p><p>“Dunno. Came in like this.”</p><p>Oscar opened his mouth, but a sharp command in French made them both jump, Jaune hurrying through the door before he could make Ozpin’s mood worse.</p><p>But Ozpin’s mood was an omen of things to come, as though it cast a spell over the kitchen, trickling down from executive chef to sous chef to prep cook, and finally to the unfortunate waitstaff that plastered smiles over frowns the moment they pushed through the doors to the dining area. </p><p>With any luck, the patrons within would never know of the stress in the kitchen.</p><p>Oscar’s first table of the night was number 46, a scruffy man in a rumpled dress shirt and faded jacket, wrestling to keep two young girls in their chairs, necks craned in opposite directions, eyes wide as they took in their lush surroundings.</p><p>“Welcome to <em>L'oeillet Vert,”</em> he recited, as the man pulled the little red-headed girl back down. “May I start you off with a drink, sir?”</p><p>“God, yes,” he said, his voice low and weary. “What d’you have?”</p><p>“We offer a full bar, sir, but if you’re interested in the chef’s signature cocktails, they’re on the back page.”</p><p>“Guess you’re too young to give a suggestion,” the man said, with a hint of a smile.</p><p>“The <em>champ de pavot</em> is highly acclaimed,” Oscar said. “It’s the chef’s variation of a French 75.” He waited a beat. “It’s strong, but socially acceptably so.”</p><p>The man’s face twitched with the hint of a smile. “Yeah, that’ll probably do. Thanks.”</p><p>“May I start some appetizers for you?”</p><p>“Uh. Yeah. Look, I’m gonna butcher most of these names.”</p><p>Oscar smiled. “I won’t be offended, sir. Not everyone speaks French.”</p><p>“Jesus, no. They kinda just put extra letters everywhere, don’t they?” He opened the menus for the children, directing their attention down. </p><p>“I want French fries!” the redhead exclaimed.</p><p>“It’s not that kind of French, Ruby,” the man said, weary. “Look, what d’you recommend to keep the kids from eating the table cloth?”</p><p>Oscar leaned in to offer suggestions, the entire ordeal dragged out by the constant chatter of the children, the explanations of each dish repeated until the man ordered too much of everything, Oscar scribbling down appetizers, main courses, and desserts.</p><p>“Special occasion, sir?”</p><p>“Nah, just a lucky cancelled reservation,” the man said, patting Ruby on the head. “The girls wanted to try fancy French cookin’, so here we are.”</p><p>“You could not have picked better, sir,” Oscar said. “The chef is unlike any other.”</p><p>“That’s what I hear. Thanks, kid.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll be out with your drinks in a moment.”</p><p><em>A moment</em> being relative, because Oscar found the bar understaffed, their head bartender calling in last minute with an emergency, the other on duty scrambling to keep up with the dinner rush. It took fifteen minutes before Oscar returned with the man’s cocktail, all apologies and promises to get their appetizers right away.</p><p><em>Right away</em> was also fraught with challenges. When Oscar asked for a time on Table 46, the sous chef looked at him blankly. Oscar’s stomach sank, and the next ten minutes were spent scurrying about to find the lost ticket, until finally Oscar had to admit that either he or one of the line cooks had completely misplaced it. He caught Ozpin’s disapproving eyes for an awful half second before he hurried back into the dining hall to make embarrassing apologies to the man and his children about their lost order.</p><p>Five more minutes and Oscar had the order anew, placing the ticket in the hands of the line cooks directly, then back to the bartender to make the man another cocktail on the house in the hopes that enough gin might still salvage the service (and the tip).</p><p>Another ten minutes, and Oscar returned to a clamor in the kitchen, Ozpin leaning against a prep counter, his thumb and index finger rubbing eyes behind his glasses, while several chefs argued at once. He looked up and caught Oscar’s eye.</p><p>“There’s been a recall,” he said, his voice clipped. “We can’t serve the mâche.” </p><p>Oscar blinked, holding his breath. </p><p>“Throw it out,” Ozpin said, loudly enough to quiet the other chefs. “I’m not risking a health concern merely because it is inconvenient. We’ll substitute arugula and mizuna.”</p><p>“Do we have enough?”</p><p>“Enough for however many orders we can satisfy!” Ozpin snapped. “Then we strike it from the menu. I cannot control <em>E. coli</em> outbreaks!”</p><p>Oscar slunk back into the dining hall, seizing a glass of <em>champ de pavot</em> from the bar and presenting it, on the house, to the patron to whom he had already apologized twice, and now would again, for the lack of French greens in his salad.</p><p>“Havin’ a bit of a rough night, aren’t ya?” the man said, trying, to his credit, not to look too amused. “Don’t worry about us. Sometimes bad things just happen. A bit of liquor is enough to keep me happy, and the girls like the music, so we’re good.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Oscar said, relieved and breathless. “I’ll check on your appetizers right away.”</p><p>And he scurried back to the kitchen. </p><p>He had lost track of how long Table 46 had been waiting by the time he arrived with the salad, gougères, soup, and caviar, refilling water as needed and checking the man’s cocktail before rushing off to his other tables.</p><p>Finally, things were falling back into place.</p><p>Until dinner service.</p><p>Table 46 had ordered the usual in terms of their basic French cuisine: <em>coq au vin, duck confit, tartare de filet de beouf.</em> Oscar had recommended it for those unfamiliar with French cooking, and the man had given him a look with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Raw steak, eh? Why not? It’s an adventure.”</p><p>Of course, it was the steak tartare that nearly ruined everything.</p><p>Oscar pushed back into the kitchen, eyes registering Jaune immediately in front of him, his feet failing to react in time, watching the collision as though very far away, the gravity of Jaune’s body heavy and stealing his breath, choking on it when they both watched the slow fall of the bone white plates onto the floor.</p><p>The crash of china brought time back to speed, Oscar and Jaune staring down at the mess in horror.</p><p>“Was that…?”</p><p>“Table 46,” Jaune whispered.</p><p>Oscar gaped for another moment. </p><p>
  <em>The table must be cursed.</em>
</p><p>“I’ll help you clean it – <em>ah!”</em></p><p>Oscar yelped at the pressure around his bicep, the rough pull of his body away from the shards of ceramic and splattered food, whipping his head up to catch a few muttered words of exasperation.</p><p><em>“Avec moi. S'il vous plait.”</em> Ozpin dragged him before a sink, motioning impatiently. “Wash.”</p><p>Oscar gave him a bewildered look. </p><p>“Your. Hands.”</p><p>This order did nothing to dispel the mystery, but Oscar knew his boss well enough to obey, thoroughly washing up, only to be dragged away the moment he wiped them dry.</p><p>He blinked and found Ozpin’s counter before him. </p><p>“That tartare was for your table, yes?” Ozpin said. “You will remake it.”</p><p>Oscar’s eyes widened, his mouth slack. “Me?” he repeated faintly.</p><p>“Unless you want the rest of the food to grow as cold as the tartare, I suggest you begin now,” Ozpin said. “You know the recipe. I know you study the menu.”</p><p>Oscar felt a blush creep up his neck.</p><p>It was true; he did study the menu, the recipes, practicing what he could on off days and in late evenings, determined to be the best even before he made it to culinary school.</p><p>He definitely knew how to make Ozpin’s <em>tartare de filet de beouf.</em></p><p>“Go,” Ozpin said, nodding toward the counter. “I will be your sous chef.”</p><p>Oscar picked up the knife, drawing a deep breath. </p><p>A trial by fire, but one he could do, even under Ozpin’s eye for perfection.</p><p>His hands moved with automated ease, pulling the chilled beef toward him, positioning the knife for a moment while he gathered the nerve to make the first cut. But once made, the rest came easily, the sharp blade slicing through the meat smoothly, the tenderloin cut into strips, then diced, and then tossed into the chilled bowl Ozpin placed beside him. The shallots came next, diced within an inch of their life, capers, a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper, fresh parsley –</p><p>Oscar mixed it thoroughly, quick enough to keep the bowl cold, shaping it into a neat circle on the plate, a dash of Dijon on the side, toast points arranged <em>just</em> right.</p><p>He wasn’t sure he even breathed until he stepped back to survey the work, Ozpin swooping in to pick it up and hand it immediately to him.</p><p>“Order up,” Ozpin said, but he was smiling now, a sign that Oscar had passed this sudden test. He felt the grin tug at his lips.</p><p>And just like that, the curse of the evening had lifted. Oscar felt the confidence surge through his veins like a drug, his tableside manner easy and friendly again, the food beginning to leave the kitchen in its usual prompt, perfect routine. </p><p>Table 46 seemed to enjoy everything, the man looking a little worse for wear from the three or four cocktails he had by the end of the meal, happily dragging his sleepy, satisfied children from their seats.</p><p>“Tell your chef everything was perfect,” he said, scribbling a crooked signature on the bill. “Thanks, kid.”</p><p>Oscar managed a grin in response. </p><p>His first customer as a chef, calling his work perfect.</p><p>Ozpin would be pleased, knowing that his faith in Oscar had not been mistaken.</p><p>Oscar was going to prove he was related to the great Ozpin Pine, one meal at a time. </p><p>“Well?” Ozpin asked, when Oscar returned to the kitchen, the dining area nearly empty. Glynda, his partner, was seated on the prep table (Oscar was always astonished at what she could do in front of Ozpin), both holding glasses of wine. “Did your tartare pass the test?”</p><p>Oscar grinned again, the glowing review still warm in his chest.</p><p>“He said it was perfect,” he said.</p><p>“Ah!” Ozpin said, nudging Glynda triumphantly. <em>“Parfait,</em> Glynda, <em>parfait!”</em></p><p>“I don’t see why you’re gloating at me,” she said. “I told you he was ready.”</p><p>Ozpin waved away the lack of support. “A toast to your first customer,” he said, pouring a small amount of wine into a third glass and offering it to Oscar. </p><p>“It’s not legal here,” Oscar said, still smiling. “I’m only eighteen.”</p><p>“Eh, I consider my kitchen a piece of France, and therefore I disagree,” Ozpin said. “A toast to my nephew – ”</p><p>“Cousin,” Glynda corrected, still raising her glass.</p><p>“– cousin, who is destined to be a great chef,” Ozpin said, not missing a beat, “because he shares my blood and good taste. <em>Chin chin!”</em></p><p>Glynda and Oscar mimicked the sound, lifting glasses to lips. Oscar was no stranger to wine, having spent so much of his youth in France, his mother allowing the occasional sip to coach the family palette. This wine was dark and smooth, red fruit and earthy minerals.</p><p>Another test in a series of tests, he knew, as Ozpin leveled him with an expectant raised eyebrow.</p><p><em>“Bordeaux Supérieur?”</em> he hazarded.</p><p>Ozpin made another noise of satisfaction, another pleased nudge against Glynda. “See? He is a Pine!”</p><p>“How did you know that?” Glynda asked, green eyes narrowed. “Did you see the bottle?”</p><p>Oscar shook his head. “To be honest, it was a guess. Aunt Salem mentioned it was a favorite.”</p><p>Ozpin’s smirk died, but Glynda laughed aloud. “He is your blood, all right,” she snickered, nudging Ozpin back. “Too much sass for his own good.”</p><p>“I will have to train you properly,” Ozpin mused, with a light pout. “You may have the advantage of my blood, but there is so much to teach.” He drained his wine and placed the glass on the counter. “Come, my car will take you home tonight. Glynda, I’ll be back to prepare for our friends in a bit.”</p><p>Oscar hastily swallowed the rest of his light pour, hurrying after the chef and wishing Glynda a brief goodnight.</p><p>The sleek black sedan was already waiting outside. Ozpin had paused outside the open door to sign an autograph and Oscar followed him into the car, listening to him give Oscar’s address. Silence fell as the car pulled from the curb, Oscar wondering what the purpose of this drive was.</p><p>Ozpin never did anything without a reason, no matter how whimsical he feigned to be.</p><p>Oscar held his hands still in his lap, waiting for him to start the conversation.</p><p>“I am sorry,” Ozpin said at length.</p><p>Oscar glanced toward him.</p><p>“Tonight – I let my personal life get in the way of the kitchen, and you and the staff suffered for it. I will not let that happen again.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Oscar said. “Everyone has bad days.”</p><p>Ozpin gave a slow nod, eyes drifting back to the dark window.</p><p>Once again, a stiff silence fell, uncushioned by Glynda’s absence.</p><p>“Your address,” Ozpin said, after a moment. “You live in the city?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“With family? Or roommates?”</p><p>“Alone,” Oscar said.</p><p>Ozpin gave him a surprised look. “You can afford it?”</p><p>“Aunt Salem is paying for it. It’s just a studio apartment.”</p><p>Ozpin hummed to himself. “Such a small space. Do you have a proper kitchen?”</p><p>“I mean…it functions. I make it work.”</p><p>Ozpin’s face remained faintly displeased, watching the streetlights pass. Then he shook his head. <em>“Non, non.</em> I do not like it. You should have a real kitchen to practice in. And Salem does not need to spend a fortune for an apartment here. No, I think you will have to move in with me.”</p><p>Oscar jerked his head up, certain he had not heard what was just said.</p><p>“With…you…?”</p><p>Ozpin gave a rueful shrug. “I know – I will be impossible to live with. Demanding and fussy.”</p><p>“No, that’s not what I – Chef, I’d love to!”</p><p>Ozpin’s smile warmed. “Do you mean that?”</p><p>“Yes!” Oscar said breathlessly. “I really, really do!”</p><p>“I am glad,” Ozpin said softly. “Consider it an apology, of sorts. Glynda is right – she knew you were ready and I doubted you. Well, no more! You will move in, and I will teach you. Who needs a culinary school when you have an uncle, eh?”</p><p>“Cousin,” Oscar said, grinning.</p><p>“Eh,” Ozpin said, and laughed. “I do not mind being an uncle.”</p><p>“Uncle Ozpin?” Oscar said.</p><p>“If you wish,” Ozpin said, but the pink on his cheeks spoke his approval. “But not in the kitchen. There I am your chef and nothing less.”</p><p>“Yes, Chef,” Oscar said, automatically, and Ozpin chuckled.</p><p>“This looks like your stop,” Ozpin said, as the car slowed. “Let me know when you can have your things packed up, and I will have it sent over.”</p><p>“I can pack tonight,” Oscar said eagerly. He had so few possessions here, and the prospect of having access to Ozpin Pine’s kitchen –</p><p>“You will <em>rest</em> tonight,” Ozpin corrected gently. “If you have this energy in the morning, very well. But not tonight.”</p><p>“All right,” Oscar said, slipping from the seat into the chill night air. He hesitated at the open car door. “Uncle Ozpin?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Ozpin’s face softened. “Would it change your mind if I told you that I do this for myself as well as you?”</p><p>“No,” Oscar said, with more conviction than he expected. “It would only make me move in sooner.”</p><p><em>“Bonne nuit et fait de beaux rêves,”</em> Ozpin said softly.</p><p><em>“Bonne nuit,”</em> Oscar echoed, and remained on the sidewalk as the car pulled away, feeling warm with the offer of a new home, new family, and the knowledge that he had, at last, broken past the walls that Ozpin seemed to put up around everyone but Glynda.</p><p>Glynda and Oscar, now.</p><p>He grinned to himself as he turned into his building.</p><p>Moving in with Ozpin Pine.</p><p>Being taught by Ozpin Pine.</p><p>Becoming a chef in his own right.</p><p>All the dreams he carried with him from France, coming true all at once.</p><p>He surveyed his tiny apartment with a carelessness – tomorrow he would not be cramped into this room. He didn’t even know what Ozpin’s house looked like, but he was delighted to imagine it, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto his stiff futon.</p><p>Ozpin would buy him a proper bed, with a real mattress. How big would his room be? Twice this size? Did Ozpin have a pool? A big TV? Cable?</p><p>Oscar sighed happily, closing his eyes, imagining the sprawling estate a celebrity might have. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out, images of mansions still behind his eyelids. He checked the message reluctantly, hoping to turn them into dreams.</p><p>He read the text, and, like glass breaking, the warmth in his gut twisted into something heavy and sick. He sat up, reading the text again and again, until the reality of it sank in.</p><p>It was from Jaune, a link to an article.</p><p>
  <em>Peckish.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh no. No, no, no - </em>
</p><p>Oscar clicked the link, but it only told him what he already knew.</p><p>The Grim eater had visited <em>L'oeillet Vert.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A glance is given into the Grim Eater's life and motives; Ozpin deals with his own restaurant being reviewed.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Qrow Branwen inhaled the delicate scent of the white roses, closing his eyes against the sunlight, listening to the spring breeze rustle the cellophane in his hands. He took a long breath of the air, chilly despite the season, feeling the hot prickle behind his eyes.</p><p><em>Allergies,</em> he told himself.</p><p>The cellophane objected to the clench of his hands, the stems of the roses biting through the plastic. He opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. If he took any more time, the girls would be waiting outside the school again. He sniffled (<em>bad case of allergies this year</em>) and placed the roses on the grass.</p><p>There was grass already, the recently unrooted soil settled, new life sprouting over it. There was meaning in that, if he looked hard enough, and so he tried not to look at all, letting go of the flowers and stepping to the side, where the name and numbers carved in stone would not haunt him.</p><p>Or so he liked to think.</p><p>“See ya, Summer,” he muttered, and shoved his hands in his pockets, skulking away as though someone might see him.</p><p>Six months. He wondered if Tai knew what day it was.</p><p>Probably. That might explain his over-cheerful morning mood, the chocolate chips in the girls’ pancakes, telling Qrow not to worry about the morning prep – he had done it already.</p><p>
  <em>Probably didn’t sleep.</em>
</p><p>It was better than it was, wasn’t it? Tai was getting up in the morning, attentive to the girls before they went off to school, running the truck again. But this sort of thing was tenuous, Tai fragile, the girls scared and confused, Qrow –</p><p>Well. Qrow was alone. It made sense for him to be the one to try to pull them all back together.</p><p>Not that he could do the things Summer did. Her healing was effortless, a warmth natural to her soul that seeped from her and wrapped those she loved into something soft, safe. Tai’s divorce from Raven had been a disaster, Qrow taking sides with his brother-in-law, his family disowning him for it because in their eyes Raven could do no wrong. But Summer had stayed, comforted him, talked things out with Tai, showed them both how to confront feelings they preferred to hide, to hate, to let destroy them.</p><p>Summer marrying Tai seemed…inevitable. The mother Yang had always known, the sister Qrow was happy to substitute for Raven.</p><p>Summer made their house a home.</p><p>For a few years, anyway. </p><p>The cancer came quickly, ruthlessly. And still Summer smiled. She held them, reassured them to the end. It happened too fast to register, Tai falling apart overnight.</p><p>Another sister gone. Back to zero.</p><p>Qrow picked up the pieces as best he could. He struggled every night helping the girls fall asleep, faltered waking them for school, tried to do what he thought Summer would do. Tai was too much of a wreck to man the truck and so Qrow did that too, a one-man show in a Korean food truck, working until he had to pick up the girls, drop them off with their despondent father, and work until nightfall.</p><p>The long days helped stave off confronting anything but exhaustion.</p><p>It took months for Tai to remember himself. Qrow found him making breakfast one morning, stopping short in the kitchen doorway, blinking as though to dispel the old memory he saw.</p><p>Tai offered him a plate of pancakes and a rueful smile.</p><p>“Hey,” Qrow said.</p><p>“Hey,” Tai said. He hesitated, spatula in hand. “Look, Qrow, I’m sor – ”</p><p>But Qrow held up a hand. “Accepted,” he said. “Welcome back.”</p><p>Tai’s smile deepened, his eyes misty.</p><p>“Your pancakes are burning,” Qrow said. Tai cursed and scurried to the gridle, and for the first time in months, Qrow laughed.</p><p>The girls did too, when Tai woke them and helped them dress, telling them about how Dad was so rusty at cooking that he burned their breakfast. Tai asked Qrow if he could help run the truck that day, and slowly, things fell back into place.</p><p>Still, when they fell, they fell unevenly. Babysitters cost a fortune and Yang wasn’t old enough to watch Ruby. Qrow gave the keys of the truck back to Tai, taking over morning food prep and childcare. Finances were thin without Summer’s contribution as breadwinner. Ruby and Yang still had bad days, tears that Qrow didn’t know how to stop. He tried cartoons, games, movies or fast food when he could spare the cash.</p><p>
  <em>What would Summer do?</em>
</p><p>An unfair question. Qrow could never live up to her. And he so looked, hoped, for a miracle that he could bring about in his own way.</p><p>The idea came unexpectedly, from Ruby’s mouth.</p><p>“I don’t like these,” she huffed, the red pleather booth squeaking as she wriggled disapprovingly.</p><p>“Rosebud, you love French fries,” Qrow said, taking one for himself. “What’s wrong with them?”</p><p>“They’re <em>soggy,”</em> she emphasized. “They taste like a wet paper bag with salt.”</p><p>Qrow laughed. “You could be a food critic, kid.”</p><p>Ruby turned large eyes on him, not noticing Yang inhale the rest of her rejected fries. “What’s a food critic?”</p><p>And there it was.</p><p><em>Peckish</em> was a stupid name chosen on a whim, a bad bird pun for bad anonymous reviews. Ruby and Yang clamored against him as he typed out the first blog entry, shrieking laughter as he hurried to take dictation. It had been months since he had seen them so energetic, minds on something other than missing their mother. </p><p>The first review was nothing much, a copy-paste of Ruby and Yang’s best insults directed at a McD’s with cold fries. But the girls eagerly asked when their next review would take place, and so Qrow dug a pocket notebook from the junk drawer and the three plotted what restaurant would be their next victim.</p><p>The third review, an overly frank assertion of what two elementary school girls thought of Qrow’s favorite coffee truck, sparked the fire. It was a popular café on wheels run by a guy who definitely drank too much of his own product. With thousands of perfect Yelp reviews, Qrow was certain no one would notice a nothing blog posting laughably bad jokes about it.</p><p>But somehow it did. It was reposted to social media, people angry, people protesting – people entertained. And there were suddenly advertisers in his emails.</p><p>The money was staggering. Enough to help with bills, buy the girls new school uniforms, even afford to see a movie once in a while without counting pennies.</p><p>He took it.</p><p>He felt guilty, reading about his nonsensical blog on major media platforms. People rallied around Nitro, the energetic owner, Bart Oobleck, even getting screen time with the local news to defend his coffee’s honor. Articles called <em>Peckish</em> rude, tasteless, cowardly anonymous.</p><p>But they kept reading it.</p><p>The money only grew.</p><p>His next review was a renowned local Scottish pub. He took Tai and the girls and treated them, the girls happy to eat anything fried without questioning it too closely, Tai pleased to have a night out.</p><p>He was less pleased when Qrow told him how they could afford it.</p><p>“You!” Tai hissed, looking around the crowded pub to make sure no one could hear them. <em>“You</em> wrote those? Bart’s a friend of mine, Qrow!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, technically…” Qrow managed a repentant smile, nodding toward the girls.</p><p>Tai’s face was blank for only a moment. “Oh no.”</p><p>“They’re really creative,” Qrow offered.</p><p>“What is this?” Ruby asked, holding up a gravy fry, poking a dark bit of something with her finger. She bit the top of it, chewing thoughtfully.</p><p>“I think those are mushrooms in the gravy,” Qrow said.</p><p>“Ninja squish cubes,” Ruby said solemnly, and Tai glared when Qrow scrambled to write the phrase down.</p><p>It took half an hour to convince Tai that the reviews didn’t actually hurt anyone. The Nitro truck had seen crowds and support more than ever. Qrow was sure that the Axe and Blunderbuss would get the same treatment.</p><p>“They’re popular places already,” Qrow argued. “Glowing Yelp reviews. My stupid blog can’t touch them. Not really.”</p><p>Tai glared above his second ale. “How much money is this making us?”</p><p>“Enough for you to have another beer,” Qrow said, waving down the bartender.</p><p>“I’m serious, Qrow,” Tai said. “How much?”</p><p>Qrow told him.</p><p>The outrage vanished.</p><p>Tai sat back. The bartender placed a fresh ale before him and Tai didn’t blink.</p><p>“That’s a lot of money,” he said, his voice faint.</p><p>“It’s a lot of money,” Qrow agreed.</p><p>He watched the conflict on Tai’s face. </p><p>“Popular places only?” he asked at length, as the girls argued over an onion ring as big as Ruby’s head.</p><p>“Popular places only,” Qrow confirmed.</p><p>Tai hesitated.</p><p>“Come on,” Qrow said, lowering his voice. “When was the last time you saw them like this?”</p><p>Tai glanced at Ruby and Yang, happily playing with their food.</p><p>“Uncle Qrow, what is this?” Yang asked, holding up her fork.</p><p>“Haggis,” Qrow said.</p><p>“What’s haggis?”</p><p>“Best not to ask, kid.”</p><p>“It tastes like I don’t wanna know,” Yang said, and she and Ruby giggled together.</p><p>Tai sighed. “All right,” he said softly. “But you don’t tell a soul you’re behind this. I’d get blacklisted from every chef friend I have.”</p><p>“Deal.” Qrow clinked his glass against Tai’s, and feigned more confidence than he felt.</p><p>Hitting a celebrity restaurant was an escalation even for <em>Peckish.</em> So far he had avoided celebrity-owned places, names that came with too much baggage. But the place had just opened and it was all over the news, already booked to hell. Qrow called for a reservation, positive that there was no way he’d get in this month – or year.</p><p>He was surprised by a last-minute cancellation. </p><p>And so he scooped the girls up, got them in something vaguely resembling the dress code (his own dress shirt and slacks rumpled from being long forgotten), and off they went to try some fancy-ass French food that normally would have taken a month to afford.</p><p>A review from somewhere this big could really pay off with the hits to his blog.</p><p>The place was gorgeous, decorated like something out of Emerald City, fresh flowers in sparkling green vases on the tables. His waiter was having a bad night but went out of his way to make sure Qrow didn’t mind it, refreshing his drink until Qrow had to stop accepting them for the girls’ sakes. And the <em>food – </em></p><p>He wished he could write a real review. The food was spectacular, all of it, even the things he couldn’t pronounce or identify. The girls ate everything in front of them, happy to offer creative insults for a dinner they clearly loved, even eating their vegetables without a fuss or a complaint. Qrow felt the tipsy guilt that crept up, knowing that he would tear this menu apart for next month’s bills.</p><p>But this was a celebrity place, booked for months out, four or five stars from whoever it was that gave those out to expensive restaurants. He couldn’t remember the guy who owned this place, but they were all the same, weren’t they? Millionaires who had enough money not to worry about the morality of making it.</p><p>He sobered up on the cab ride home, organizing his notes while the girls dozed in a satisfied food coma on his lap. He got them tucked into bed and immediately went to work. The reviews, like food, were best fresh, thrown together quickly for the maximum nonsense. Overexaggerated descriptions, hate for everything on menu until you worried the Grim Eater enjoyed nothing at all. The more fantastic the review, the more hits he got. </p><p>And this could be the stupidest, biggest review of them all.</p><p>He gave the blog a quick edit for typos and then published it, opening a beer and watching the beginning hit count grow. He could check Twitter for the first few reactions, but it was late and he was exhausted, an alarm on his phone for seven o’clock to prep the produce for Tai’s truck. </p><p>In the morning, he had an email from a name he didn’t recognize.</p><p>The owner of <em> L'oeillet Vert.</em></p><p>And he wasn’t happy.</p><p>“Ah, fuck,” Qrow whispered into his coffee.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ozpin hummed as he worked, wiping his hands on his apron and reviewing the plates before him. Glynda sat on the prep counter across from him, studying his hands and sipping wine. It was nearly midnight, but the profession demanded night owls, and Ozpin worked with the energy of a man who had freshly woken from a good night’s rest and not a full shift as an executive chef.<p>“This is new,” she remarked, as he arranged toast points on a plate.</p><p>“You will be pleased, I think,” Ozpin said, delicately placing thin slices of something magenta atop the toast. Capers and pickled onion followed, the toast drizzled in oil.</p><p>“It looks like lox,” Glynda said.</p><p>“Not quite,” Ozpin said. “I heard of this from a vegan friend. Roasted beets in lieu of salmon.”</p><p>“Vegan? You?” Glynda said, incredulous.</p><p>“You sound shocked.”</p><p>“You would die before you gave up cheese.”</p><p>Ozpin laughed, offering her the plate. “So I would. I fear I used dairy for this version.”</p><p>“Whose recipe is it?” Glynda asked, taking a toast point. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. It was delicious; light, the pickled vegetables giving it a hit of spice, soothed by the cream cheese.</p><p>“You accuse me of stealing recipes?” Ozpin said.</p><p>“Well. You got the idea from someone.”</p><p>“Hazel Rainart.” </p><p><em>“Ozpiiiiin,”</em> Glynda groaned. “Why are you antagonizing him again?”</p><p>“Me? Antagonize?” Ozpin repeated, eyes wide and innocent. “I do not know this word.”</p><p>“Your English is only lacking when it’s convenient,” Glynda countered.</p><p>“I’m not antagonizing Chef Rainart,” Ozpin said, shrugging. “I saw something on his spring menu, and I thought I would try a variation myself, privately, amongst friends.”</p><p>“If you put it on your lunch menu, he’ll be furious. I don’t know why you insist on carrying on this feud!”</p><p>“He started it,” Ozpin said, with all the attitude of a toddler. “He insulted my restaurant before it even opened its doors!” </p><p>“You ran him out of business in Seattle,” Glynda said. “When you opened <em>Plat en Argent</em> a few years ago. He moved down here, you moved with him, and you wonder why he hates you.”</p><p>“As if this country is not big enough for us both,” Ozpin said airily.</p><p>“This country, and several countries in Europe that serve your food.”</p><p>Ozpin offered an enigmatic smile that made Glynda consider slapping it off his face. But then he wouldn’t let her have the snacks he had prepared for the Whiny Chef Club that night, and so she kept wisely silent, merely rolling her eyes as he finished the last plate. She slipped from the prep counter and helped him load a cart with the food, stealing a slice of brie before he could strike it from her hand, lecturing her in too-rapid French for her to understand.</p><p>“Hello, boys,” Glynda said, as they walked across the empty dining room, to the far table where the usual suspects sat, patiently waiting for Ozpin to return the favor of food and drink. “Let’s get this party started!”</p><p>Ozpin was, at the least, an attentive host, and he doted upon them all, even playing bartender with a round of his proprietary ginger French 75 cocktails. Only after all had been served did he himself sit, a champagne flute in hand, reaching for brie on toast.</p><p>“This lox is amazing,” Oobleck announced. “What is this, if it’s not fish?”</p><p>“Smoked beets.”</p><p>
  <em>“Amazing!”</em>
</p><p>Ozpin beamed like a smug cat, Glynda rolling her eyes again.</p><p>“Don’t fill up too quickly,” she said. “I made a rose-raspberry millefeuille for dessert.”</p><p>“This is much needed,” James said, leaning in to bop shoulders with Glynda. “After last time…”</p><p>“It seems to happen to us all,” Ozpin said, with the complacency of a man un-insulted.</p><p>“And on <em>that</em> note!” Port bellowed, his voice echoing in the empty restaurant. “You cannae claim that right tonight!”</p><p>Ozpin’s smile froze on his face, the champagne flute at his lips. <em>“Excusez-moi?”</em></p><p>Port chortled happily, reaching for another lox toast point.</p><p>“You, ah, are the unfortunate victim of the night,” Oobleck said, fingers rapidly typing on his phone. He held up the screen to the home page of <em>Peckish,</em> where it announced its latest review.</p><p>“He would not <em>dare,”</em> Ozpin said, his voice low.</p><p>“Down, tiger,” Glynda said, with a sigh. “Come on, Ozpin, you knew he would eventually. You have the hottest place in town right now.”</p><p>Ozpin regarded her with pressed lips and a locked jaw.</p><p>“Of course, we don’t have to read it,” James offered, in a tone that dared Ozpin to ask for that mercy when he himself had not.</p><p>Ozpin drank – a lot. Glynda watched with widening eyes as he tipped the flute down, draining the glass. Only then did he straighten his glasses, steeling himself with an inhaled breath.</p><p>“No, no, not when we all had fun at each other’s expense,” he said, with a grace that did not match his actions. “Please, let us hear what this…<em>critic</em> has to say about my food.”</p><p>Port settled in with his food like a happy child, chortling into his drink, already enjoying the abrupt shift in Ozpin’s mood. Beside Glynda, even James chewed his food very slowly, as though using it to hide the smile he knew he shouldn’t show.</p><p><em>Well,</em> Glynda thought, reaching for her own drink, <em>Ozpin owes them all a touch of humbleness.</em></p><p>Even better, he would absolutely <em>loathe</em> it.</p><p>Glynda could drink to that.</p><p>Oobleck cleared his throat, standing at the table as though giving a dramatic reading – which, of course, he very much would be, if the Grim Eater was as fantastically cruel as before.</p><p>“’I wanna preface this review with a warning,’” Oobleck read from his phone, and the tension in the restaurant tightened, Port wriggling in his seat like a kid on Christmas, Glynda’s eyebrows arching, and Ozpin seething silently, a black cloud of a mood so great Glynda was almost certain she could see it around him. “’I’ve been trying to get into the Green Carnation for months – that’s the name of the place, right? At least that’s what Google Translate says. It’s like they chose an impossible-to-pronounce name in French to be pretentious and keep out the peasants. Well, I got in anyway. Suck it.’”</p><p>Glynda stifled a giggle and received a glare from Ozpin in return.</p><p>“’So the warning is this: we’ve all heard of this place. It’s been on the news, it’s run by some <em>celebrity</em> that no one really remembers the name of, and by all accounts, it’s supposed to be amazing food. So this review might not be what you expect.’”</p><p>Oobleck paused, all drama, Glynda and James and Ozpin all leaning forward, waiting for him to continue.</p><p>“’It’s gonna be worse.’”</p><p>Ozpin scoffed loudly, muttering to himself in French, Glynda only able to catch a few words of it, but none of it flattering to the writer.</p><p>Port, meanwhile, roared with laughter. “Pure dead brilliant!” he cackled, banging a fist against the table. “He’s gallus, all right!”</p><p>“Lighten up, Ozpin,” Glynda said, shaking her head with a smile. “It’s only going to get worse.”</p><p>Ozpin sighed melodramatically. “Go on,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Let us get this done.”</p><p>Oobleck grinned, too eager to comply. “’We’ll get right into it, because I ordered a lot and it all sucked.’”</p><p>Ozpin drew a sharp breath but said nothing, another wave of his hand for the reading to go on.</p><p>“’The mâche salad was mostly baby arugula. I mean, I feel like I’m splitting hairs here, but shouldn’t a salad of French lettuce have French lettuce?’”</p><p>“There was a <em>recall – ”</em> Ozpin broke in, all indignation, cutting himself off, yet another wave, this one impatient.</p><p>Glynda shook her head again; only a few sentences in, and Ozpin was ready to commit murder.</p><p>“’It came with some kind of mustard dressing, which the menu didn’t mention, by the way. In my opinion, mustard belongs on hot dogs and nowhere else.’”</p><p>James snorted, sending champagne bubbles into his nose, and he coughed between laughs.</p><p><em>“C’est n’importe quoi!”</em> Ozpin grumbled. “Hot dogs? <em>Hot dogs?</em> I hope he chokes on – ”</p><p>“Ozpin,” Glynda said, a warning made ineffective with the giggle that followed.</p><p>Again, Ozpin gave a wave for Oobleck to read.</p><p>“’I got just about every appetizer on the menu, so here we go: the gougères – fancy cheese puffs, let’s be honest about them. Good enough, because how do you screw up cheese and bread? But I wasn’t thrilled about whatever cheese they used. Velveeta is better.”</p><p>Chaos exploded at this comment, Ozpin rising from his seat, hands bracing himself on the table, a lecture in angry French drowned by the roar of laughter from Port and James, Glynda covering her giggles with a hand.</p><p>“Velveeta!” James choked. “Oh, he’s – well, he’s insane.”</p><p>“Plastic cheese!” Ozpin exclaimed. “How can he – how can I – ” He sat, with a dismissive hand motion, and so Oobleck went on.</p><p>“’Blini with red caviar: call it what it is – pancakes with fish gunk on it. There’s a special place in hell for ruining pancakes.’”</p><p>Ozpin gave a despondent shrug, as though he had given up.</p><p>“’Truffle-infused French onion soup: squishy fungus and root vegetable, clearly buried for a reason - so we won’t find them, make god awful dishes with them, and try to eat them. (Everyone knows potatoes don’t count.) In short, two wrongs don’t make a right. I mean, why couldn’t they make a decent French appetizer, like French fries?’”</p><p>“French fries?” Ozpin repeated, his face horrified. “This is not – <em>il ne faut pas mettre tout dans le même sac!”</em></p><p>Port’s booming laughter had dissolved into a rasping wheeze, the Englishman wiping tears from his eyes.</p><p>“Perhaps he should have gone to McDonald’s instead!” Ozpin seethed.</p><p>“I believe he did!” Oobleck pointed out. “His first review, in fact!”</p><p>“This is going to take all night,” Glynda said, “and I’m beginning to worry about Ozpin’s blood pressure. Bart, could you get to the highlights?”</p><p>“Can do! Ahem!” Oobleck struck a noble pose. “He goes onto the entrees next, and judging by how badly he butchers the names…ahem! Well! I presume this is about the duck <em>confit.”</em></p><p>“What does he call it?” Glynda said, lips curling.</p><p>“’Duck confetti,’” Oobleck read, and the room burst into noise, Ozpin saying a good number of things in rapid French that Glynda remembered as being distinctly impolite, James and Port guffawing loudly over it – even Oobleck let out a laugh.</p><p>“Come on, Ozpin,” Glynda said, between giggles. “He’s clearly not a real critic. He’s an internet troll – he does this to get under your skin. Either that or he’s a five-year-old.”</p><p>Ozpin ran his hands under his glasses, rubbing his eyes. </p><p>“Maybe I will laugh at this one day,” he muttered. “But now? <em>J’en ai ras le bol.</em> Go on, go on…”</p><p><em>Fair enough,</em> Glynda mused, pushing the bottle of champagne toward Ozpin as a distraction. His duck <em>confit</em> was one of his oldest recipes, a twist on the traditional by the addition of spicy pickled golden raisins, a sweet heat that cut through the fattiness of the duck. It was one of her favorites, one Ozpin kept close to his heart, and so she decided that plying him with alcohol might dampen the blow.</p><p>“’What to say about duck confetti…other than it was the worst mistake of my entire life, and that includes my birthday when a clown lost one of my presents in a bad magic trick. Confetti is supposed to be colorful – not wrinkled fruit that smell like my grandpa’s denture water. Then again, old people like that stuff, so the chef is probably ancient.’”</p><p>Ozpin closed his eyes, drawing a long breath. Glynda expected another explosion of irate French, but instead he reached for the champagne, drinking directly from the bottle.</p><p>“Aye, that’s the spirit!” Port cried.</p><p>“I never thought I’d see the day someone reduced Ozpin Pine to drinking French champagne from the bottle,” Glynda said dryly.</p><p>“Let us see…” Oobleck said, skimming the review. “He ordered the seasonal bouillabaisse and wrote – and I quote – ‘Man doesn’t live in the ocean for a reason. We aren’t meant to live off of seafood because it’s foul, and it smells worse.’ He also remarked on the fennel in it. ‘Licorice is meant to be red. Black licorice is bad, case and point – you know what else is bad? Necrosis. Which you will get from eating too much black licorice.’”</p><p>“Is that true?” Glynda asked.</p><p>“If only he <em>did,”</em> Ozpin muttered uncharitably, taking another pull from the champagne bottle.</p><p>“Ozpin.”</p><p>
  <em>“Allez!”</em>
</p><p>“He claims your tartare was undercooked,” Oobleck continued, impressively undeterred by Ozpin’s continuous, muttered death threats.</p><p>James laughed, his shoulder trembling against Glynda.</p><p>“’The chef topped raw meat with a raw egg and called it dinner? More like food poisoning.’” Oobleck skimmed a bit further. “And he says your <em>Champ de Pavot</em> smelled like ‘a bad cologne.’”</p><p>“Is that all?” Ozpin asked, his voice hard.</p><p>“He mentions your <em>coq au vin</em> in passing. ‘I tried the chicken for tradition’s sake. It was all right.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ozpin said loftily. “’All right.’ <em>All. Right.”</em> He glowered in his seat, jaw clenched.</p><p>“Come now,” Glynda said. “It’s hardly going to matter. Everyone who’s eaten here knows this isn’t true at all, and we’ll probably see increased business.”</p><p><em>"C’est énervant,</em> I do not need his charity. My restaurant is already booked months out.”</p><p>“Well, you survived the review, at least, even if it made you sulk.”</p><p>“I do not <em>sulk,”</em> Ozpin sulked. “You would not be gracious to hear about your desserts being so maligned.” </p><p>“On that note!” Oobleck interrupted. “Our friend the Grim Eater did, in fact, stay for dessert.”</p><p>Glynda froze, her glass halfway to her lips. She was aware of the silence that followed this announcement, the eyes that turned toward her.</p><p>“Ohhh?” Ozpin said, drawing out the sound and reaching for his champagne flute. </p><p>“Can it, old man.”</p><p>“It is easy to be kind when you are not insulted yourself.”</p><p>“All right, kids, that’s enough,” James interrupted. “Go on, Bart, let’s hear Glynda get a piece of humble pie.”</p><p>Glynda clicked her tongue but kept quiet; she could hardly refuse to hear it when she had made a fuss of Ozpin’s doing so – not if she didn’t want to hear about it from him for months on end.</p><p>“Fine,” she said haughtily. “Let’s hear it.”</p><p>Another dramatic clearing of his throat, toss of his head, and Oobleck read on.</p><p>“He calls your <em>Poires Belle Hélène</em> - oh. Oh my.” Oobleck made a grimace. “Ahem. Well! He compares your poached pears to – well. A used tampon.”</p><p>Glynda’s jaw dropped. </p><p>Even Ozpin stiffened, looking up as he poured champagne, wine flowing over the brim before he started, scrambling to mop it up with a cloth napkin.</p><p>Glynda only noticed in the back of her mind; all that she saw before her was red.</p><p>“I will <em>kill him!”</em> she said, her voice rising. She stood, pointing a finger at Oobleck’s phone. “Of all the disgusting, vile things – that tasteless little weasel, I’ll wring his – ”</p><p>“Easy, Glynda, easy,” James broke in, pulling her down so that she didn’t climb onto the table and smash Oobleck’s phone. “Remember – he’s just a troll.”</p><p>She seethed in place, her expression so severe that Ozpin offered no quip, not even a smile.</p><p>“Shall I hold off on the rest?” Oobleck asked.</p><p>“I think that would be best,” Ozpin began to say, but Glynda cut him off.</p><p>“No,” she said. “Like a Band-Aid – all at once.”</p><p>“Ah, I see. Well. The millefeuille – he writes, ‘Roses aren’t meant to be eaten. They are meant to be smelled and given to your S/O so they will put out.’”</p><p>Ozpin snorted and tried to conceal it, but Glynda sighed, the edge of her temper dulling.</p><p>After all, it <em>was</em> almost funny, and she knew that had this been about anything but her desserts, she would have laughed as well. </p><p>“One more,” Oobleck said, and Glynda shrugged.</p><p>“I can’t imagine anything worse than the pears,” she said dryly.</p><p>“Your <em>croqembouche</em> - he writes, ‘I could make a better dessert tower thing out of the Cinnabon bites from Taco Bell.’”</p><p>“Oh, that son of a – ”</p><p>“Glynda,” Ozpin broke in, lips compressed, body shaking with the laughter he wouldn’t allow. </p><p>“You’re just <em>dying</em> to let it out, aren’t you?” she asked, accepting his offer of more champagne.</p><p>Ozpin’s hands trembled as he poured.</p><p>“…Taco Bell,” he murmured, and dissolved into silent laughter, champagne spilling on the table, Ozpin utterly unconcerned with it, laughing until tears formed in the corner of his eyes.</p><p>Glynda’s lips twitched, impossible to remain angry or even stoic with Ozpin falling apart so spectacularly in front of her. She managed a chuckle at her expense, and at once the tension around her broke, the men joining in.</p><p>“Well, we’ve all been hit by this disastrous blog!” Oobleck said. “And clearly the man has no taste! But we have lived, we will triumph – and we will drink!”</p><p>“Aye!” Port roared. “Drinks all ‘round!”</p><p>Ozpin pushed himself up, adjusting his glasses, still shaking with mirth. “Another bottle, for our wounded pride!”</p><p>Glynda sighed, bringing her already full glass to her lips as Ozpin went to the bar to retrieve the wine.</p><p>“Are you so wounded?” James asked quietly.</p><p>“No – well, yes. I hate the man and I would gladly take the balls he had to write that trash in the first place. But…” Her eyes drifted back to where Ozpin fussed behind the bar.</p><p>“He’s taking it well,” James said. “Eh – I mean, relatively. I understood a few choice words to know he wasn’t happy, but he seems to be shaking it off now.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure,” Glynda said. “He doesn’t let things like this go. He’s stubborn, and I’m certain he’s going to do something quite stupid over it.”</p><p>“Something other than get roaring drunk?”</p><p>“With any luck, we all will,” Glynda said with a snort.</p><p>“I think you’re overthinking things,” James said, guiding her champagne back toward her face. “Ozpin will be fine.”</p><p>“Hmm,” she said, but drank obligingly. “I hope you’re right.” </p><p>And so she decided to enjoy the evening, the shock of the words against her dulling with wine and the relief that this was as bad as it would get – they had all been victims, and the blog would move on to other unfortunate restaurants. They were free of the anticipation.</p><p>They drank, ate Ozpin’s unrivaled food, and laughed at the man who hid behind a computer screen. To James’ credit, Ozpin did appear to have forgotten the review entirely, chatting and sharing laughter with his friends, all smiles, until the sun began to rise and they at last had to bring the party to an end.</p><p>Glynda went home with James, too tired to wait for her own stop, happy to pass out in a champagne coma beside him for the better part of the day. She collapsed into his bed face-first, fatigue and alcohol lulling her to sleep instantly.</p><p>She had, in the wee hours of the morning, forgotten to worry about Ozpin and his impulsive, honor-wounded behaviors – that is, until she checked her phone at noon, staring blurry-eyed at the texts he had sent hours before.</p><p>“What have you done now?” she murmured, shaking herself awake while James snored softly beside her.</p><p>He had done the one thing she hadn’t considered – and the one thing she knew would only make things worse.</p><p>Ozpin had written back to the Grim Eater.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ozpin and the Grim Eater mince words over email; Oscar moves into Ozpin's house at an inopportune time; Ozpin meets a tall, dark stranger and sparks fly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Do I open this?</em> Qrow pondered, sipping his coffee in continuous distracted gulps, willing the burn of his throat to burn the words from his screen – and yet the notification was wholly undisturbed, still highlighted in bright yellow and bold black lettering. He should have slept in til his alarm. Five am is too fucking early for – </p><p>
  <em>What idiot responds to a joke?</em>
</p><p>The knots Qrow’s fingers found in his hair wound tighter the knots in his stomach.</p><p>
  <em>It’s not like I want to be an asshole…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I have a reputation to maintain, or the foot traffic will stop, and the advertisers will – fuck.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck,” he repeated into his now nearly empty coffee cup.</p><p><em>I shouldn’t read it, I should just ignore it,</em> he concluded, already skimming the email.</p><p>“Sir. Kindly allow me to contradict, in the most emphatic manner, the suggestion, made in your blog of last night, and since then copied into many other news outlets, that I am a chef capable of creating food as you described in your review of ‘The Green Carnation.’”</p><p>
  <em>Who talks like that?! Is he pretentious, or compensating?</em>
</p><p>“I invented that magnificent flower of a restaurant.”</p><p><em>Pretentious</em> and <em>compensating.</em></p><p>“But of the low class and mediocre review that usurps its strangely beautiful name I have, I need hardly say, nothing whatsoever to defend.”</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, you and me both.</em>
</p><p>“<em>L'oeillet Vert</em> is a work of art.”</p><p>
  <em>Amen. It was the best damned food – </em>
</p><p>“Your blog is not.”</p><p>Qrow spat the last of his coffee, struggling to contain his coughs to not wake Tai or the girls.</p><p><em>Not holdin’ punches despite his hoity toity attitude. He’s a moron if he thinks this was serious,</em> Qrow thought as he mopped the last of the coffee from the table with the bottom of his tattered night shirt.</p><p>“I ask only what is civil: that you retract your review and instead write what my food deserves – a man of taste and with a vocabulary beyond that of a child.</p><p>“Sincerely yours, owner &amp; executive chef – ”</p><p>“Sincerely my ass,” Qrow grumbled, grabbing a second cup of coffee. It was entirely too early to deal with this bullshit. “And you almost had my sympathy, Mr. Millionaire.”</p><p>The kitchen chair squeaked a protest the force Qrow forced upon it when he sat too abruptly, shaking the bad juju from his limbs and cracking his neck. </p><p><em>Pretend it’s gas, blame the dog and leave it in the hallway.</em> </p><p>“Alright, let’s do this, bitch.” He cracked his knuckles and began to type – no thinking, just action. That’s how the blog operated and his response had to match. The blog wasn’t him, after all – it was a persona.</p><p>“Your first mistake is assuming this blog is civil. Your second is assuming a man of taste and big vocabulary runs it. Good day.”</p><p>He sat back after sending the reply, satisfied that it was exactly the sort of asshole thing the Grim Eater would say, and that the owner of Le Douche Vert would take the stonewalling at face value.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>The response came within minutes, no pretentious pretended greeting this time, just anger that seeped from the font.</p><p>“If you concede to a lack of taste, why even review restaurants you cannot hope to enjoy or understand? You seem to me to be little more than a man who enjoys making others miserable in return for advertisers and attention.”</p><p>“What?! Oh, for the love of – don’t call me out like that bro!” Qrow grit his teeth. <em>Let it go, man, I’m just trying to pay the damn bills.</em></p><p>“Why care what one satiric blog thinks?” <em>Send.</em></p><p>Again, a reply came quickly.</p><p>“A big word from you. But if you know it, it is clear your audience does not know the meaning.”</p><p>Qrow narrowed his eyes. This guy was ruining his whole morning by being the worst sport in the history of man. If only he’d just – </p><p>A creaking floorboard caught Qrow’s attention, a sleepy Yang rubbing her eyes. “Dad, what time is it?”</p><p>“Almost time to be up. What do you want for breakfast, Squirt?” </p><p>
  <em>A side of humorless chef and a tall glass of not my fucking problem right now.</em>
</p><p>“Marshmallows!” </p><p>“Uh huh. How about eggs and homemade waffles, and you can put some marshmallow on them?”</p><p>“Eggy mallows!”</p><p>“On the – oh, never mind, have them however you want,” he relented with a sigh. This was good. He needed a cooldown and a distraction. The email would still be there when he was done with prep this afternoon.</p><p>…only when he reread the sharp words after hours lost to corralling the girls for school and many hours lost to food prep, time had done nothing to temper his mood.</p><p>
  <em>Insult my intelligence – fine. Insulting my audience...</em>
</p><p>“I’ll show you big words,” he muttered to the stranger behind the email. “But you aren’t gonna like it. Time to shut this shit down.”</p><p>He cracked his knuckles again and began to write.</p><p>
  <em>You may not have deserved it first, but you do now.</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Oscar Pine pressed his face to the window of Ozpin’s sleek black car, eyes wide as they pulled up to the enormous house that simply <em>couldn’t</em> exist in the Bay Area. Tall – taller than two stories but from the huge windows, only for sweepingly high ceilings, where chandeliers sparkled in the sunlight. The walls were an aged color, like a milky cream, soft despite the imposing height of it, pillars like something from a Roman temple, but with enough smoothness to vaguely imply a seasonal villa owned by a member of the French royal family.<p>“Holy shit,” he whispered, as the car came to a stop in the driveway. He pulled his face away with effort, his nose leaving a mark on the glass. “Oh. Sorry, Klein.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Pine,” the driver said, all smile. “Welcome home.”</p><p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p><p>Oscar wiggled out of his seatbelt, grabbing his backpack from the seat next to him, bursting from the door to stop, in refreshed wonder, to view the house without glass between. It was breathtaking, Oscar craning his neck cartoonishly to see the sunlight skim the roof.</p><p>
  <em>I live here.</em>
</p><p>“The movers will see to your things,” Klein’s voice came from the back of the car. “Shall I take these bags to your room, Mr. Pine?”</p><p>“I don’t even know which room is mine,” Oscar breathed. He shook the awe from his voice and turned to where the driver held his one suitcase, battered from a long flight from France months before, and another small duffel with his toiletries. It was comical Ozpin had even rented movers with a truck – Oscar had a lumpy futon, a dresser, an end table, and a set of cheap eating and cooking utensils. The rest he had learned to do without.</p><p>Now, in front of this house –</p><p>“Call me Oscar, please,” he said, and Klein’s usual smile deepened.</p><p>“Oscar.” He beamed. “I’ll take these into the house and ask Mr. Pine where he would prefer them.”</p><p>“Thanks, Klein.”</p><p>Oscar already had daydreams of what the inside of the mansion looked like, felt like – cool like marble, clean linen and salt smells as the bay breeze wafted through the gauzy drapes and open windows, maybe fresh bread right out of the oven, soft old French music playing…</p><p>He stepped in after Klein and inhaled. The air <em>was</em> cool, the breeze fresh through the waterfront windows, and the music –</p><p>Oscar flinched at the sound of raised voices. They echoed unintelligibly down the marble hall, man and woman, speaking over one another so that both conveyed only anger.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Klein murmured, gently dropping Oscar’s meager bags in the entryway. “What could that be?”</p><p>Oscar bit his lip. “Uh…<em>that blog</em> may have been at the restaurant recently.”</p><p>Klein whistled.</p><p>“I guess Uncle Ozpin found out,” Oscar said. “…and Glynda.”</p><p>“Taking it in stride, as usual, Mr. Pine,” Klein said lightly.</p><p>Oscar bit back a laugh. “Yeah, well, you know how he is. Super easygoing until he’s not.”</p><p>Klein hummed knowingly.</p><p>“Have you worked for Uncle Ozpin long?” Oscar asked.</p><p>“Not long, no,” Klein said. “Before this, I was the driver for the mayor. Until he dined at Mr. Pine’s restaurant and I stumbled into a conversation with him.”</p><p>“He stole you from the mayor?” Oscar exclaimed.</p><p>“I was not stolen,” Klein said, shrugging. “I didn’t belong to Mayor Schnee the way I belong to Mr. Pine.”</p><p>Oscar nodded, flinching again when the voices rose again.</p><p>“But I have worked for him long enough to know when to throw his nephew to the wolves,” Klein said, with a wink. “Good luck, Oscar.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Oscar offered a rueful grin as the driver escaped, dropping his backpack beside the rest of his few possessions. He let out a long breath from puffed cheeks, rolled his shoulders, and followed the irate voices down the hall.</p><p>He found the kitchen through a hall of great windows and mirrors, the voices ricocheting off the black and white marble countertops and vaulted ceiling. Oscar winced, squinting at the familiar forms of his uncle and business partner, squabbling over –</p><p>A laptop.</p><p>
  <em>Great.</em>
</p><p>Oscar leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, listening to the bickering.</p><p>
  <em>Welcome home.</em>
</p><p>“No, you’re done – Ozpin, you’re done responding.”</p><p>“Only if <em>he</em> is done – ”</p><p>“This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, old man! It was thoughtless to respond <em>at all</em> and you’re just going to piss him off – ”</p><p>“Good! I hope he breaks his computer in a rage!”</p><p>“Unless you piss him off enough that he publishes your emails! Did you think about that when you decided to insult him while your brain was soaked in champagne?”</p><p><em>“Non! Mais j’en ai marre, t’sais?”</em> Ozpin threw his hands in the air, Glynda watching him with crossed arms, a foot tapping the stone floor disapprovingly. The next sentence contained enough curses that Oscar’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.</p><p>“Don’t point your French at me,” Glynda said, pointing a finger back. “You can’t win an argument by switching languages. Never mind how your English is <em>better</em> after two bottles of wine – ”</p><p>“He said he’s sick of it,” Oscar broke in helpfully.</p><p>Silence fell like a heavy blanket, Ozpin and Glynda turning their heads simultaneously, mouths parted with whatever forgotten argument they had prepared to say next.</p><p>“Hmm,” Ozpin hummed, running a hand through his hair.</p><p>“What?” Glynda asked at length. </p><p>“He said he didn’t think of the emails being published because he was sick of the blog,” Oscar translated. “And then he said a lot of things that would make my aunt wash out of my mouth with soap.”</p><p>Glynda shot a glance at Ozpin, who went pink and had the decency to looked ashamed. </p><p>“I didn’t mean them toward <em>you,”</em> he murmured to Glynda. “Oscar, I am sorry. With everything that happened, I lost the time. I did not mean for your first impression of home to be like this.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Oscar said. “I…read the blog. I’d be pretty pissed too.”</p><p>“Eh!” Ozpin said, motioning toward Glynda.</p><p>“Do not take a teenager’s maturity as a winning argument – sorry, Oscar – to prove your point!”</p><p>“What happened?” Oscar broke in, when it seemed like their fight would begin anew.</p><p>“Your uncle wrote back,” Glynda said flatly, “and now he’s in an email argument with a man who will not be reasoned with – or intimidated. And I’m telling Ozpin that he <em>absolutely cannot reply again.</em> If this got out, it would be worse than the review.”</p><p>“He started it,” Ozpin said sulkily.</p><p>“And neither of you are six years old!” Glynda said.</p><p>“What’d you say?” Oscar asked, inching to peer at the laptop.</p><p>“I told him he was wrong, and to issue a retraction,” Ozpin said stiffly. “He refused.”</p><p>“He said himself it’s <em>satire,”</em> Glynda said.</p><p>“And I said he did not know the word,” Ozpin countered. “And he has been silent since.”</p><p>“And that’s where it ends,” Glynda threatened.</p><p>“Fine,” Ozpin said loftily.</p><p>
  <em>“Fine.”</em>
</p><p>And then the laptop dinged.</p><p>All three heads turned as one, stunned into a moment of silence, and then a few things happened all at once.</p><p>Ozpin grabbed for the laptop, Glynda wrenched it from him, and the two grappled at each other like toddlers fighting over a toy.</p><p>Oscar bent below them and swiped the device, scurrying out of reach before they could react.</p><p>“Read it!” Ozpin said, pulling Glynda from going after Oscar.</p><p>“Oscar – do not. You’re just going to rile him up again!”</p><p>“As if I won’t read it from my phone the moment you leave?” Ozpin countered. “Better to hear it from a loved one’s voice!”</p><p>Oscar froze.</p><p>
  <em>Loved one?</em>
</p><p>He caught Ozpin’s eye and Ozpin’s lips twitched.</p><p>
  <em>He’s really glad I’m here.</em>
</p><p>“Sorry, Glynda,” he said.</p><p>“I swear, Oscar, I will fire you – ”</p><p>“It’s my restaurant! Read it, Oscar!”</p><p>And Oscar read it.</p><p>“’Used Google translate: English to Douche – which I found out is a French word and couldn’t be more applicable. It’s a good thing you’re stuck behind your kitchen doors or you’d scare your customers away with your <em>elegant prose</em>. You should be thankful for the boost in business. You’re welcome. You should be humbled, modest – those are other words you should know. Similar roots and all. Let me know if you need a dictionary link. I’d be happy to school you.’”</p><p>Silence fell again, Glynda and Ozpin both wearing expressions of shock.</p><p>Ozpin recovered first.</p><p>
  <em>“Ce faux cul! Raclure de bidet! Sans-couilles – ”</em>
</p><p>“Ozpin!” Glynda snapped, pulling him back from lunging for the computer again, Oscar’s ears burning from the language.</p><p>“Do I want to know what any of that means?” she asked him, while Ozpin stewed in her grasp.</p><p>Oscar shook his head quickly.</p><p>“Funny how you only swear in French,” Glynda said.</p><p>“It sounds better,” Ozpin grumbled, deflating against the counter. “You will not let me reply to this insult?”</p><p>“No offense, Ozpin, but he’s won. Be the bigger man and let it go.”</p><p>Ozpin glared at her for a moment, letting out a long, whiney exhale.</p><p>“All <em>right.”</em></p><p>Glynda motioned at Oscar, who quickly closed the laptop.</p><p>“I hate him!” Ozpin said. “I am tired of him existing in my life. He hates art, and there is no saving men like that.” He glanced at Oscar again, his expression growing miserable and rational. “I feel like all I do is make bad impressions on you. You must already hate it here.”</p><p>“Well,” Oscar said. “It’s…exciting.”</p><p>Glynda snorted. “Forget it, Ozpin, and make your cousin feel at home. I’m going back to James’ obscenely large bed and taking an aspirin.”</p><p>“Good morning, Glynda,” Ozpin said as she sauntered from the kitchen.</p><p>“Good luck,” she muttered to Oscar.</p><p>
  <em>Welcome home.</em>
</p><p>“Uh – thanks?” Oscar watched her go, leaving him with Ozpin in the oversized kitchen. “You know, I kinda thought…”</p><p>“Mmm?” Ozpin asked, eyes still lingering on the laptop.</p><p>“That you and her – but if she’s going to a guy’s place – ”</p><p>Ozpin laughed, the sound at odds with the anger he had shown just minutes before. “Oh dear. Oh, <em>non, non.</em> I do many stupid, impulsive things, but none such as that. Alas, just friends, and none of the benefits.” </p><p>Oscar nodded, feeling awkward for bringing it up. But he realized, standing in Ozpin Pine’s kitchen (easily twice the size of his former studio apartment), that he knew almost nothing about his uncle’s personal life.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that Aunt Salem said you two got close…around the time of the divorce.”</p><p>“She said so, eh?” Ozpin asked, one eyebrow lifting. <em>“Comme c'est intéressant.</em> No, that is…not exactly the truth. Perhaps that is something I owe you. But not today. I have had enough of people who dislike me today.” He gave the laptop one last look and then shrugged. “Onto something more pleasant. Have you eaten?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, I had a granola bar at the apartment.”</p><p>Ozpin made a <em>tch</em> sound. “Bird food! <em>Non,</em> I will make you something. Eggs?”</p><p>“Oh. Sure, I like eggs.”</p><p>“Fried? Scrambled? I have not made Eggs Benedict in a while – ”</p><p>“You don’t have to go to that much trouble, really – ”</p><p>“I will be honest,” Ozpin said, dropping his voice as though Glynda was still in the room. “I have an awful headache from too much champagne and too much of Glynda’s voice. Give me the excuse to indulge.”</p><p>Oscar bit back a grin. “Oh, uh. Sure, Eggs Benedict sound great, Uncle Ozpin.”</p><p>“Ah! Excellent choice! I could not choose better myself! Sit, sit, and watch a master of eggs at work!”</p><p>Oscar saddled up a stool at the bar, leaning on his elbows to watch his uncle, in his new family kitchen, make him breakfast. It may not have been <em>exactly</em> the family homecoming he had imagined, but – as Ozpin chided him for not paying attention to where he kept the pans – perfection was overrated.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ozpin walked into Atlas Restaurant Supply, took a long breath of steeled air, and let it out slowly. A long week, impossibly long, made insufferable by a man behind a computer screen who lacked a basic sense of integrity.<p>To say nothing of his <em>taste.</em></p><p>The sting of the insults – within the review itself and the emails that Ozpin had <em>perhaps</em> been impulsive in instigating – had not faded much in the span of a week. Everywhere online, culinary circles talked about it. News outlets had reached out to Ozpin’s PR manager, customers mentioned it every evening in the restaurant – there was no escaping it.</p><p>True enough, the emails had not been published, Ozpin at length begrudging Glynda's wisdom of ending the communication with a man who would not listen to reason and might at any time find Ozpin annoying enough to ruin further. And of course <em> L'oeillet Vert</em> suffered no lack of interest, reservations now booked out almost a year in advance.</p><p>And yet the insults remained, echoing in his ears at night, until he took a day off mid-week to avoid the kitchen, to think about anything else. It had kept him up at night enough; it had detracted him from spending time with his nephew, and so he was determined, through any means necessary, to forget the Grim Eater existed. And so he found himself remembering old promises, and wandered into a familiar shop to complete a quest long overdue.</p><p>He drifted into the section for knives, eyes skimming old and new brands, collections in blocks, of every shape, size, and style. He could have ordered these online, or through his usual supplier, but this one required a special touch, a gift that needed to be chosen in person, by holding it in hand. He gravitated to the chef’s knives, browsing at his leisure for the best quality, pausing when he arrived at the Atlas brand itself.</p><p>
  <em>Would Oscar prefer an eight or nine inch?</em>
</p><p>He pursed his lips, imagining how deftly the boy might be able to wield a longer knife, picking up the packaged nine-inch and studying the curve of it. They came with colored handles now, black or red or blue, but his fingers roved over boxes until he found one with a wood handle: Italian olive wood. Strong, light, timeless – a knife that Oscar would take with him after he left Ozpin’s restaurant and began his own.</p><p>
  <em>Parfait.</em>
</p><p>“Hey, uh, excuse me.”</p><p>Ozpin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the interruption; while he usually didn’t mind the public eye while he was out, he was not in the mood to indulge fans. The public eye had been entirely too studious this week.</p><p>The man who approached him was tall – not as tall as Ozpin but made to look taller through his slender build, bright eyes above dark scruff, dark hair brushed back with a careless sort of appeal.</p><p>
  <em>Tall, dark, and handsome.</em>
</p><p>Almost enough to make Ozpin change his mind about being bothered.</p><p>“I just had a question, if you don’t mind,” he said. His voice was low, graveled, given in that careless American way when asking perfect strangers for favors. He motioned at the knives. “I’m buyin’ a gift for my brother, but I don’t really know my way around a place like this. You seem like you know what you’re doin’, so if you don’t mind tellin’ me which of these is worth the price tag…”</p><p>Ozpin blinked.</p><p>
  <em>He’s asking me for advice? About knives?</em>
</p><p>Was this a joke?</p><p>“Ah,” Ozpin said, for a lack of anything else to say. “No, I do not mind.”</p><p>The man’s face lit up, his smile transforming him into something else.</p><p>Ozpin’s stomach fluttered.</p><p>
  <em>Non, non, not so easily.</em>
</p><p>Still. There was no harm in helping the kind, handsome stranger who smiled at him so sweetly?</p><p>“I, ah, prefer this brand.” Ozpin offered the knife he held to the man. “This is also a gift, for a cousin who is just beginning to learn.”</p><p>“Looks expensive,” the man said, eyes darting to the price tags.</p><p>“A good knife should last years – a career, even,” Ozpin said. “Atlas knives will do that.”</p><p>“Ah, yeah. Makes sense,” the stranger nodded in understanding. “But ah – what about the handles? And the type of metal? And – shit, you don’t work here, do you?”</p><p><em>He must be joking.</em> It was too cute, the way the man suddenly looked embarrassed to have asked at all.</p><p>“Ah, no,” Ozpin said, with a gentle smile. “Just a fan of a very good knife. But I am happy to help.”</p><p>It was an odd truth; moments ago he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But this man’s disarming charm was enough to cast aside Ozpin’s bad mood. He broke into an impromptu lecture regarding carbon alloys, weight and length, the merits of one brand to another. </p><p>“The handle is mostly cosmetic,” Ozpin said, waving toward the colored handles on the other Atlas blades. “Polypropylene is good for comfort, but I prefer something with style.”</p><p>“What would you prefer?”</p><p>“Hmm. This Atlas blade is very nice, and despite the price, a very good value. I don’t know what length to recommend – that varies from chef to chef. I like nine inches myself.”</p><p>“Shit, I’m only working with a seven.” The man’s eyes widened. “Nine inches? Is that normal? For you I mean. I didn’t realize you were so…experienced.”</p><p>Ozpin paused, catching the tone of the question. “Ah, well, I am experienced, yes. If your brother prefers something less, then I defer to your judgment. I can only offer what I personally like. There is nothing wrong with a shorter blade if you know how to use it…”</p><p>
  <em>Rambling.</em>
</p><p>He let the sentence die, suddenly uncertain of what he was saying.</p><p>
  <em>Is he flirting?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Non, no need to be so desperate.</em>
</p><p>“That I do. Guess it never occurred to me to use anything bigger. I was workin’ in a tight space when I learned. Had to make sure you didn’t accidentally stick the wrong meat if you know what I mean.” His smile was crooked, almost uncertain, but managed a quick wink.</p><p>Ozpin opened his mouth, felt the words sink in, closed his mouth, and gave a very fake cough to obscure a laugh.</p><p><em>He</em> is <em>flirting.</em></p><p>
  <em>Au revoir, bad mood. Bonjour, dark stranger.</em>
</p><p>“Hmm,” Ozpin said, offering a smile. “You strike me as a man who knows his way around a kitchen. I do not think I would mind you in a tight space.”</p><p>Terribly out of practice, but even should Ozpin botch this, this man’s face and figure would be enough to carry his mood into brighter days.</p><p>But no, the man grinned, pleased by the response.</p><p>
  <em>Not so dusty, am I?</em>
</p><p>“Call me some time,” he said, whipping out a well-worn notepad and scrawling some digits on it, “I’d love to show you my skills first hand.”</p><p>
  <em>So easily? Or perhaps this man simply has good taste.</em>
</p><p>“I would like that very much. But I must warn you that my standards are very high,” Ozpin said, feeling the pleased blush on his cheeks. </p><p>“Then I look forward to impressing you.” </p><p>
  <em>Oh, I like him. Very much.</em>
</p><p>Ozpin took the slip of paper and glanced at the number before placing it safely in his coat pocket. “But I fear we have done this out of order. I don’t have your name yet.”</p><p>“Oh right! Qrow Branwen,” he said, extending a hand to Ozpin. “Other than <em>chaud,</em> what should I call you?”</p><p>“Ah!” Ozpin’s eyes lit up as he took Qrow’s hand. <em>“Tu parles français aussi?”</em></p><p>Of course, if he did, that would lend his compliment some interesting meaning.</p><p>Not wrong, perhaps, but – </p><p>“Uh…do I speak it, or was I doing it wrong?” Qrow asked, modestly running a hand through his hair. “I, ah…don’t actually know any French other than some things you’d learn from a pissed off chef trying to teach her students not to burn the place down.”</p><p>Ozpin laughed. “Hmm, well. That is enough, I think, for your purposes.” He could not remove the smile now, realizing too late that Qrow had called him hot to his very face, and attempted to do so in a language he didn’t know. </p><p>
  <em>Charming. Dangerously so.</em>
</p><p>“Besides, it gives me the chance to teach you some more…creative phrases.” </p><p>“Lookin’ forward to it,” Qrow said, eyes alight. “Maybe I can teach you some American ones.”</p><p>“Hmm, I have been here for some time, so I know quite a few,” Ozpin teased. “But you can always try.”</p><p>“I do like a challenge – speakin’ of which, might be hard to guess your name, if you don’t give me that at least.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Ozpin had neglected to mention it, in the excitement of this new flirtation going so well. Qrow, of course, may not have recognized Ozpin by face, but he would know the name, the fame that came with it, and all the complications that followed.</p><p>
  <em>Best to just get it in the open and be done with it.</em>
</p><p>But it had been such a lovely time until now.</p><p>“Ozpin,” he said, giving the name an unintentional weight. “Ozpin Pine.”</p><p>“Pine? Like pine tree?”</p><p>“Ah…yes.” Ozpin braced himself for the epiphany, for the fallout that so often followed.</p><p>“Hah. Well, can’t give you shit since it’s a last name. At least your parents weren’t hippies like mine and named you after an animal like my sister and me.”</p><p>Ozpin stared. The pause dragged on, Ozpin still waiting for the flash of realization on Qrow’s face.</p><p>And yet it did not come.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t know who I am.</em>
</p><p>The thought was unbelievably, perfectly delicious.</p><p>
  <em>Can I take him home right now? I wish to keep him.</em>
</p><p>He shook off the desperation that came from loneliness and an unexpectedly strong attraction to a perfect stranger in a shop. </p><p>“I have probably kept you too long,” he said, shaking himself back into the conversation. “As remise as I am to release you, I should be off myself. Would you mind if I text you? My hours can be late, but I hope to talk more. Perhaps make some plans…”</p><p>“Hit me up anytime,” Qrow said. “I’m used to bein’ up all hour with sudden noises in the middle of the night. The girls are always runnin’ around getting into god knows what, but they’re cute so you can’t get mad at ‘em, and…” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Damn, now I’m rambling. Guess I get distracted when it’s so easy to keep looking at you and forget the point of what I’m tryin’ to say. Yes. I’d love to hear from you. I’m usually free Mondays.” He ran his hand through his hair again, all nerves.</p><p>
  <em>Mon Dieu, he’s adorable.</em>
</p><p>“Mondays are excellent,” Ozpin said aloud. “And pardon – girls? Do you have children?”</p><p>“Yeah. Two, Yang and Ruby. Cutest tiny terrors you’ll meet,” he beamed.</p><p>“Oh, I see! If I’m not prying, are you divorced?”</p><p>“No, no! Sorry, guess I should explain. They’re my brother’s kids, but I’m the stay-at-home manny, so I consider them my own too. When their mother passed, they started calling me ‘Dad number two,’ and didn’t have the heart to teach them otherwise…so here we are,” he finished, coughing at the length of his explanation. </p><p><em>“Oh,”</em> Ozpin said, with a laugh. “You must have you hands full taking care of them. I should take care of you, give you some time away.”</p><p>“It’s a date then. Drinks Monday, so sans tiny humans? I used to know this really suave bar by the Presidio. I can woo you with my kitchen skills our second date.”</p><p>
  <em>Second date?</em>
</p><p>Ozpin wondered if they could skip to that now, like skipping dinner to get to dessert.</p><p>“It’s a date,” Ozpin repeated. “I’ll be in touch.” He paired the phrase with a light hand on Qrow’s arm, a quick squeeze to feel the firmness there, eliciting a slew of repressed daydreams immediately. </p><p>“In more ways than one, I hope,” Qrow said.</p><p>Ozpin exhaled too sharply at the thought, almost dropping the boxed knife in his other hand.</p><p>
  <em>Glynda was right – about many things.</em>
</p><p>Monday was an eternity away.</p><p>“Thanks for the help, by the way,” Qrow added. “On the knives.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m sure you can repay me.</em>
</p><p>He needed to leave, before the tension between them became any worse.</p><p>“Of course. <em> Au revoir,</em> Qrow.”</p><p>Qrow seemed to read Ozpin’s hesitation to go, evident in his smirk. “See ya, Oz.”</p><p>Ozpin let it end there, turning toward the front with Oscar’s knife, barely cognizant of why he had even walked in or how long he had shamelessly flirted with a beautiful stranger. He checked out in a daze, surprised and satisfied by his own boldness, and too afraid to believe in the ultimate good luck of a tall, dark, and handsome man who had no idea who he was.</p><p>He closed his car door behind him, knife boxed up on the passenger seat, and let out a very, very long sigh, closing his eyes and reliving the electric interaction. Only after several minutes did he reopen his eyes, reaching for his phone to call the only person he could talk to about any of this.</p><p>“Ozpin? I hope this isn’t a restaurant emergency.”</p><p>“No,” he said, with another sigh.</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p><em>“Parfait.</em> Glynda, I met someone.”</p><p>“Someone? What someone? The new line cook? He wasn’t supposed to come in until tomorrow.”</p><p>“No, no,” he laughed. “I’m in love.”</p><p>“You’re <em>what?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“J’ai eu un coup de foudre.”</em>
</p><p>“Are you drunk?”</p><p>Ozpin hummed, running a hand through his hair. “You were right, Glynda. I think I’ve been alone for a very long time.”</p><p>Silence followed this statement, and at length, a sigh from the other end.</p><p>“As much as I value hearing you agree that I’m always right, I can’t have you falling for the first idiot who smiles at you. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said shortly. “I’m coming over, you’re pouring me a glass of wine, and I’m going to make sure that this guy is worth all your French overtures.”</p><p>She hung up before Ozpin could reply, and so he merely chuckled and started the car, humming to himself the entire drive home.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Qrow hummed as he unlocked the front door open, the tune echoing in the entryway as he nudged the door shut with his hip.<p>“Welcome home,” a voice called. Qrow rounded the corner, giving Tai a surprised look.</p><p>“You’re home early.”</p><p>“Sold out! Lunch rush was nuts today,” Taiyang said, grinning and stretching out on the sofa. “So I’m treating myself to a beer before the girls get home from school. You sound like you’re having a good day.”</p><p>“Yeah, I finished tomorrow’s prep this morning and popped out for somethin’ for you.”</p><p>“For me? What’s the occasion?” Tai teased. “Just something because you love me?”</p><p>“I can still take it back, you know.”</p><p>Tai laughed, sitting up. “Trade you for this beer.”</p><p>Qrow made a face. “A half empty beer with your cooties? Pass.”</p><p>“And I’ll get you another.”</p><p>“Deal.” Qrow swiped the beer from Tai’s hand, tossing himself on the sofa, offering a plastic bag in return. “Was gonna wrap it, but I didn’t think you’d get home so soon.”</p><p>“I don’t mind. Thanks.” Tai pulled the box from the bag, eyes widening at the polished knife inside. Qrow smirked when Taiyang’s mouth gaped for words. </p><p>“Is this – holy shit, Qrow – this is an Atlas knife.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Qrow said, taking a long pull from the bottle. “Happy truck-aversary. Five years runnin’ that thing. Congrats.”</p><p>Tai just stared at the knife. “Qrow…these are…<em>really</em> expensive.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“How can we afford this?”</p><p>“Christ, Tai, just accept the thoughtful gift I got you,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes. “I got a bit of cash. You know. From the blog.”</p><p>Tai made a face. “This knife is from <em>tainted</em> money?”</p><p>Qrow groaned, throwing his head back against the sofa. “Tai, come on. You said you were cool with this. These rich assholes can afford to buy us a few things.”</p><p>Tai’s disapproval faded, his hands turning over the box. “Yeah, I guess…”</p><p>“So enjoy your sweet ass knife knowing you aren’t responsible for me runnin’ my mouth online.”</p><p>Tai’s face slowly lost the disapproval, softening as he turned over the blade in his hands. “…thanks, Qrow.”</p><p>“All right, don’t start crying,” Qrow said. He tipped the last of the beer down his throat and shook the empty bottle. “Deal’s a deal, Tai.”</p><p>Tai laughed, pushing himself off the couch. “Fine, asshole, I’ll get your beer.”</p><p>“So you gonna ask me why I had a good day?”</p><p>“I thought it was the warmth of buying me an amazing gift.”</p><p>“Fuck no,” Qrow snorted. “I met a guy when I was out.”</p><p>Tai squatted at the fridge to reach for a beer, craning his neck back toward the couch. “You met someone? Really?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Qrow said. “Helped me pick out your knife. Kind of a…silver fox kinda guy. Thought he was an old fogey, but then he turned around and, man. That face.”</p><p>“At least you’re talking about his face,” Tai teased.</p><p>“I could talk about his sweet ass too, if you wanna – “</p><p>“I’m good,” Tai said, shaking his head. </p><p>“Thick. You know, with two c’s. I could take a handful – ”</p><p>“All right, you win!” Tai laughed. “You like this guy that much?”</p><p>“That obvious?” Qrow said, grinning. “Yeah, he…I dunno. He’s different. Like gettin’ hit by lightning. Everything felt tingly.”</p><p>“Wow, you <em>really</em> like him. Not just a hookup, then?”</p><p>“Nah. Not this one.” Qrow nursed the empty beer bottle, gaze drifting. “Not this one.”</p><p>“So what’s he do?”</p><p>“How should I know?”</p><p>“What <em>do</em> you know about him?” Tai asked, laughing.</p><p>“He’s hot as fuck and he likes me. The hell else do I care about?”</p><p>“Google him.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Google his name,” Taiyang said, sitting down again with two fresh beers. “See if he has a Facebook or something. See what his interests are.”</p><p>“His interests are <em>me,”</em> Qrow said decisively. “He was givin’ me all the right looks and lines, Tai. Blushed a bit, which was cute as fuck. Besides, isn’t Googling dates kinda creepy?”</p><p>“I didn’t say <em>stalk</em> him. Just see if he has some hobbies on Instagram.”</p><p>“Instagram,” Qrow repeated. </p><p>“Yeah. Maybe he posts pics of his ass,” Tai teased.</p><p>“Oh, shit,” Qrow said, this revelation a stroke of mild genius. He fumbled with his beer as he reached for the phone in his back pocket, Taiyang laughing at him as he sat up at the sound of the door.</p><p>“Girls are home,” Tai said. “So watch the language.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Qrow said, thumbing at his phone, too absorbed by the thought of more photos to even hear the happy screams of Ruby and Yang.</p><p>
  <em>Would he even have an Instagram in his name?</em>
</p><p>One way to find out.</p><p>Qrow typed with one thumb as he took another swig of beer. </p><p>
  <em>O – Z – P – I – N – </em>
</p><p>His thumb hovered over the P key, eyes skimming the accounts already emerging.</p><p>
  <em>TheFrenchChef.</em>
</p><p>Below that, next to a photo of one familiar silver fox –</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin Pine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Verified.</em>
</p><p>Qrow paused the bottle at his lips. </p><p>
  <em>Why would he be verified?</em>
</p><p>He clicked the account, watching as a number of photos of Oz appeared, bright brown eyes and demure smiles. Most were in kitchens, some outdoors with the sunlight turning his hair almost white, others –</p><p>France, vaguely familiar historical views behind him. And food.</p><p>
  <em>So much food.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, makes sense he’s a chef. We met in a cooking store.</em>
</p><p>Qrow tore his eyes away from all the happy Ozpins staring back at him, finally glancing at the bio. </p><p>“Official account of Chef Ozpin Pine.”</p><p>
  <em>Super helpful.</em>
</p><p>His eyes roved for any other information.</p><p>
  <em>Followers: 7.9M.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Million? He has eight million followers?</em>
</p><p>Qrow bit the top of the bottle to steady it against his chest, both hands free to open Google and type in his name.</p><p>A website (ozpinpine.com) came up over a Wikipedia page, news articles with his face and name plastered everywhere (“21 Things You Don’t Know About Ozpin Pine”, “Celebrity Chef Ozpin Pine to Open French Chic Restaurant in San Francisco”) –</p><p>
  <em>Celebrity chef.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Celebrity.</em>
</p><p>Qrow stared, unable to do anything else, unable even to continue skimming over all the information that the world seemed to know about the guy who agreed to drinks with him on Monday.</p><p>He let his phone fall from his fingers, tipping the beer up, chugging it as though alcohol could lend a sober moment to everything that just crashed down on him.</p><p>“Easy,” Tai said, plucking the empty bottle from his hands. “Get ‘im, girls.”</p><p>And then Ruby and Yang pounced and he couldn’t think of anything except the pile of limbs on top of him, girlish giggles as he tickled them into submission. It took ten minutes before they tired out enough to let him go, Ruby shrieking that she wanted to visit the girl next door, Tai calling after her to take Yang.</p><p>As quickly as the tornado began, it was over, the girls’ laughter echoing outside in the yard.</p><p>“You think the Belladonnas get tired of the girls always bothering them?” Tai asked, rummaging in the kitchen for the start of dinner prep.</p><p>“Eh,” Qrow said, still winded from the attack. “They’re a lot of energy, but they’re good kids. Ghira can keep up.”</p><p>“Better than you,” Taiyang teased. “So, did you look him up? Your date?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Qrow let out a long breath, wincing as he picked himself off the floor. “You’re right, he has an account.”</p><p>“Yeah? Learn anything good?”</p><p>
  <em>That the guy looks like a model and he’s worth millions?</em>
</p><p>“He’s a chef,” Qrow said. “Figured, you know?”</p><p>“Makes sense.”</p><p>Qrow’s phone trilled and he reached for it absently, wondering if he should tell Taiyang who Ozpin was. Tai was nerdy enough to watch cooking shows – he’d probably know the guy.</p><p>
  <em>That’ll just make me nervous.</em>
</p><p>Qrow shut his mouth and glanced at the notification.</p><p>
  <em>Good afternoon, Qrow. This is my personal number. I’m looking forward to drinks on Monday. – Ozpin</em>
</p><p>“Oh, shit.”</p><p>“That him?” Tai asked, closing the refrigerator loudly.</p><p>“Uh. Yeah. Hang on.”</p><p>His fingers hovered over the keys.</p><p>
  <em>He liked me well enough to give me his number. Nothing’s changed.</em>
</p><p>Nothing but realizing one of them was an idiot.</p><p>
  <em>Hey, Oz. Looking forward to a lot of things on Monday.</em>
</p><p>Qrow held his breath as the text sent.</p><p>The reply came quickly. </p><p>
  <em>You make me wish time moved a little faster.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, shit,” Qrow said again, his voice a whisper.</p><p>Famous <em>and</em> hot.</p><p>
  <em>But when to break it to the guy that I know who he is?</em>
</p><p>He chewed his lip.</p><p>“You <em>really</em> like him,” Tai’s voice broke in. “I’ve never seen you hesitate to answer a text.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Qrow said. He pushed his body from the sofa, stalking down the hall to his bedroom, phone clutched in hand. He closed his door and flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>Honesty was the best policy, right?</p><p>
  <em>Why didn’t you tell me you’re famous?</em>
</p><p>He pressed send and let the phone slip from his hand, a palm over his eyes, feeling each passing second call him a complete and total moron.</p><p>And he still scrambled to unlock it when it pinged again.</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you off. It’s been a long time since I met someone. My name tends to complicate. I liked you very much.</em>
</p><p>Qrow stared.</p><p><em>Oz</em> is self-conscious?</p><p>
  <em>And he likes me. Very much.</em>
</p><p>The phone pinged again.</p><p>
  <em>…does this change anything?</em>
</p><p>Qrow almost laughed. </p><p><em>You’re asking if I have a problem seeing a hot, famous guy?</em> he wrote back.</p><p>Ozpin answered with an emoji of a blushing face.</p><p>“Fuck,” Qrow said. <em>Why is that so cute?</em></p><p>
  <em>Do you really think I am?</em>
</p><p><em>I can say some worse things if you want,</em> Qrow wrote back.</p><p>He waited for the inevitable blushing face to return.</p><p>
  <em>Tell me all of them.</em>
</p><p>Qrow blinked.</p><p>“Fuck,” he whispered again, thumbs typing as fast as he could. “You got it, Oz.”</p><p>It was going to feel like an eternity until Monday.</p><p>It wasn’t until he emerged from the shower (a very <em>cold</em> shower, thanks, Oz), that he met with Tai’s most disapproving look.</p><p>“What now?” Qrow asked, toweling off his hair.</p><p>“You went to <em>L'oeillet Vert?”</em> Tai demanded, crossing his arms.</p><p>“Uh. Yeah,” Qrow said. “Don’t you read my blog?”</p><p>“Your blood money blog? Not if I can help it, but it’s all over Twitter.” The flash of Taiyang’s phone screen judgmentally blinded Qrow. “And you went without <em>me?”</em></p><p>“Is that what this is about?” Qrow asked, checking his phone for the hundredth time to see if Oz had sent him anything else.</p><p>“Qrow, I’ve been dying to get in since they opened, but I thought there was no way in hell I could, let alone afford it, and you’re telling me somehow they let you in, <em>and</em> you dragged their food to hell?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Qrow said.</p><p>Tai’s glare could have melted ice. Then it faded, replaced by a look of horror.</p><p>“You bought my knife with money from that review? <em>Augh,</em> blood money from <em>my hero’s</em> restaurant!”</p><p>“Okay, look,” Qrow said. “It was a last second thing. I couldn’t get in for months either so when they had an opening, I had to take it. But the food…good god, <em>the food.”</em></p><p>“I hate you,” Tai said, and turned on his heel. He stopped, one last look of hope. “Did you at least bring me leftovers?”</p><p>“What? Fuck no, it was a week ago and your kids fucking demolished everything.”</p><p>“Uuggghhh,” Tai said, stomping away, looking remarkably like Yang when she pouted. “You’re the worst!”</p><p>“There’s some takeout in the fridge. Besides, you can’t reheat French food.”</p><p>“I would risk it for Ozpin Pine’s food!” Tai scoffed.</p><p>Qrow froze.</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin?</em>
</p><p>“But just in case I’ll forgive you,” Tai continued, his voice trailing from the kitchen, “what kind of takeout?”</p><p>“What did you say?” Qrow asked, his feet carrying him down the hall. </p><p>“About what?” Tai asked, opening a box and inhaling deeply. “Is this chicken?”</p><p>“Ozpin Pine. You said Ozpin Pine.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tai said, digging in a drawer for a fork. “You saw the news. Can’t avoid it. <em> L'oeillet Vert</em> is his place.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK - </em>
</p><p>“You okay?” Tai asked, his fork pausing above the takeout box.</p><p>“Yeah.” Qrow shook off the expression, managing a half smile. “I’m just…gonna go shower.”</p><p>“You just did.”</p><p>“Maybe I need to masturbate!” Qrow snapped, fleeing back into the hall.</p><p>“Jesus, Qrow, keep it down, the windows are open – ”</p><p>Qrow closed his bedroom door, and leaned against it, clutching his phone.</p><p>
  <em>I have fucked up this time.</em>
</p><p>As if on cue to guilt him, his phone buzzed softly, Oz’s name popping up on the screen.</p><p>Qrow swallowed.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should just call it off.</em>
</p><p>Sure, Oz had called Qrow a number of unflattering things over email, but given what Qrow had written about his food –</p><p>And Oz in person – gorgeous, the smile that came easily, the accented flirting, how his eyes had trailed Qrow’s body before he left –</p><p><em>And</em> he can cook like that?</p><p>
  <em>I can’t cancel. I like him too much already.</em>
</p><p>So – new plan.</p><p>Tell him immediately? He’d cancel in a heartbeat.</p><p>
  <em>Pass.</em>
</p><p>Tell him after the first date? Better, Qrow could do it in person and apologize. Properly, face to face. Watching that gorgeous face contort with well-deserved anger.</p><p>
  <em>Pass, pass.</em>
</p><p>Tell him after Oz was desperately in love with him and couldn’t bear to live without him?</p><p>
  <em>Perfect.</em>
</p><p>His phone buzzed again, Qrow catching the heart emojis that flashed across the screen, and he sighed, pushing himself off the doorframe to fall face first onto his bed. </p><p>
  <em>Piece of cake.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I can resist everything except temptation.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ozpin and Qrow have their first date; Qrow struggles to tell Ozpin the truth; Oscar reflects on his first week living with Ozpin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glynda watched Ozpin rummage about the kitchen, humming an Édith Piaf song, placing two pristine glasses on the counter. He was in the same spectacular mood that she had heard over the phone, murmuring song lyrics, eyes bright behind his glasses.</p>
<p>
  <em>He really did meet someone.</em>
</p>
<p><em>“Un instant s'il vous plait,”</em> he sang, disappearing from the kitchen. </p>
<p>Glynda was almost certain this Ozpin was a fake, the reserved pretentious original replaced by a giddier, lovestruck version.</p>
<p>
  <em>I should take video and show James or he’ll never believe me.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin returned with a bottle in hand. “I found a Chardonnay from Chassagne-Montrachet,” he announced.</p>
<p>“White wine? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Ozpin?”</p>
<p>“This is the American way, is it not? Chardonnay amongst housewives, discussing their latest crush?” he teased, pulling the cork out with an appreciative <em>pop.</em> </p>
<p>“So I talk about James, and you talk about – I do hope you got his name.”</p>
<p>“Qrow,” Ozpin said, drawing out the syllable. He poured Glynda a generous glass before attending to his own. “We met picking out knives, like some manner of fate. We have a date on Monday.”</p>
<p>“You do?” Glynda asked, surprised. “I thought that when you said you agreed with me about seeing someone, it would take you another ten years.”</p>
<p>“That was my intention,” Ozpin said. “Are you hungry? I think I have some brie somewhere.”</p>
<p>“So who is this man who so easily caught your eye?” Glynda said, watching half his body vanishing into the fridge. “I’m still in disbelief he exists.”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” Ozpin said, straightening. “Dark hair. Thick hair. You know the kind that you wish to run your hands through. Bit of silver at the temples that caught the light just so. A build like slender Apollo, but the voice of some darker being, like a growl that sets your hair on end. I’m afraid I’m out of foie gras, which is a pity, but I think this wine is able-bodied enough for capocollo, yes?”</p>
<p>“Now I’m <em>sure</em> this man doesn’t exist,” Glynda said dryly.</p>
<p>“You didn’t answer me about the capocollo.”</p>
<p>“Yes, fine, and the brie. I don’t suppose you have honeydew for it.”</p>
<p>“This time of year? It would taste like cardboard. I have pears and apples.”</p>
<p>“What kind of apples?”</p>
<p>“Pink Lady.”</p>
<p>“That would pair well with the wine.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I thought so, but perhaps – ”</p>
<p>“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just slice them and tell me about <em>Qrow,”</em> Glynda said, exasperated.</p>
<p>Ozpin shot her an amused glance, reaching for his paring knife. “He asked me about knives,” he said, motioning with his own. “Lost in a sea of tempered metal.”</p>
<p>“How lucky you were there to save him,” Glynda offered dryly.</p>
<p>“Very! I told him about weight and length – ”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you did.”</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled. “Do not think I didn’t have the same idea. I told him I preferred a longer knife – ”</p>
<p>“Mmhmm.”</p>
<p>“ – and he offered what length he used – ”</p>
<p>“Are you seriously telling me your first conversation was a metaphor for dick size?”</p>
<p>Ozpin laughed, cheeks blooming pink. “Well. American flirting is so…explicit. In France everything is much subtler. So I could not be certain if I was discussing his knife or…his <em>knife.”</em></p>
<p>“You haven’t flirted in ten years.”</p>
<p>“Longer than that,” Ozpin said. “But at least Qrow was overt enough that even I did not miss it.”</p>
<p>“How overt?”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Ozpin slid a plate with apple slices toward her, reaching to unwrap the meat and cheese. “He tried to call me ‘hot’ in French, but used slang for horny.”</p>
<p>“He’s not wrong.”</p>
<p>Ozpin smiled but tried to hide it by sipping his wine. “I think he said something about tight spaces, so I said I would not mind that – ”</p>
<p>“You did <em>not.”</em></p>
<p>“– and then we made plans for drinks on Monday. He became…nervous at that,” Ozpin said pensively, popping a piece of brie in his mouth.</p>
<p>“Well, no shit, Ozpin. Most people would be.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Given who you are, of course.”</p>
<p>Ozpin gave her a secretive smile, motioning at her with his wine. “That is the – what is the phrase? - that is the rub. He has no idea.”</p>
<p>Glynda leveled a stern glare at him. “Ozpin Pine, did you lie to him?”</p>
<p>“No! No, I gave him my name, and – nothing! He has never heard of me!” Ozpin laughed, leaning against the counter. “He is interested in me alone.” He swirled his glass, watching the wine complacently.</p>
<p>“Well.” Glynda sipped her wine, taking a slice of apple from the plate. “Small wonder you’re so pleased. That must be a weight off your shoulders.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. But I will have to tell him eventually. After a few dates, when he is too in love with me to care about the money.”</p>
<p>Glynda watched him, the happiness on his face fading.</p>
<p>
  <em>The poor thing. All this bravado, to hide all the fears he carried with him.</em>
</p>
<p>“Ozpin,” she said, and he looked up. “You’ve only just met him. But if you feel strongly about him, give it a chance. A real chance. Be open with him. Don’t put up walls. Don’t use clever humor to hide from him.”</p>
<p>Ozpin sighed, raising his glass to his lips again. </p>
<p>“Right, right,” he murmured. “Well. We will see how the first date goes.”</p>
<p>“Come now, chin up,” Glynda said. “Or at least drink until you can find that careless confidence again.”</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled. “I like him, Glynda,” he said softly. “I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing that cannot be explained. There was…” He motioned with one hand. <em>“Magnétisme.</em> Electricity. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.”</p>
<p>“Then don’t worry. You’re tall, cute, rich, a hell of a chef. What’s not to love?”</p>
<p>Ozpin offered her a smile, soft and kind. “All right, I will text him and tell him. Thank you. You have always believed in me.”</p>
<p>“You’ve never given me reason not to.”</p>
<p><em>“Ouais, enfin…”</em> Ozpin said, clearing his throat. “Have more wine, until this sentimentality passes.”</p>
<p>“Europeans never talk about their feelings,” Glynda teased, offering up her wine glass for a refill.</p>
<p>“Americans share every secret they have to anyone who listens,” Ozpin countered.</p>
<p>“That’s not true and you know it.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed, eyebrows knitting as he fished his cell phone from his pocket. “I do wonder if Qrow is seven inches then,” he said, and Glynda sprayed wine over the countertop.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Qrow stood at the threshold of the Axe and Blunderbuss, feeling more than a little déjà vu.<p>
  <em>Appropriate. Something something a French feeling for a French date.</em>
</p>
<p>Hopefully not the only French feeling Qrow would get that night.</p>
<p>He shook off the bad joke, sighing heavily. A date with a guy who Qrow had publicly and personally canned, meeting for drinks at the place Qrow had canned a month or two before.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is fine.</em>
</p>
<p>He ran a nervous hand through his hair, ruffling it back to proper shape, hoisting the helmet under one arm. Tai had balked at him taking the bike, but it was easier to navigate in San Francisco’s more crowded streets, and a godsend for parking. He had left it on the side of the pub, taking his time outside to soothe the complications in his head.</p>
<p><em>I should tell him tonight,</em> he thought miserably, checking his phone to see if Ozpin had messaged him yet. <em>It’ll ruin everything, but - </em></p>
<p>He glanced up from his phone as a sleek black car rolled up to the curb, double parked, turn signal flashing bright in the darkness. The back door opened and there he was, silver hair and glasses, a suit tailored beyond anything that should have been allowed, Qrow’s eyes following the lines down Ozpin’s shoulders to –</p>
<p>“Ah, you have impeccable timing!”</p>
<p>Qrow tore his eyes upward to Ozpin’s smile, easily given, eyes crinkling. He closed the door and tapped the top of the car and it slid away silently, disappearing into the evening.</p>
<p>“You have not been long, I hope?”</p>
<p>“Uh, no,” Qrow said, managing a small smile. “Just got here myself.”</p>
<p><em>“Parfait,”</em> Ozpin sang, and cleared his throat, looking embarrassed by his enthusiasm. “Forgive me, I…admit I have been looking forward to this.”</p>
<p>
  <em>For a hot, rich guy, he kinda reeks of loneliness.</em>
</p>
<p>But the confession only made Qrow dread telling him the truth even more. </p>
<p>
  <em>Can’t the guy get a night to relax with company?</em>
</p>
<p>“Me too,” Qrow said. “A lot.”</p>
<p>Ozpin’s smile returned, soft and meaningful. “I am glad,” he said quietly. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>Qrow offered his free arm and Ozpin blinked in surprise, linking his with a privately pleased expression. Qrow pushed the door open and Ozpin followed. The bar was as Qrow remembered: velvet booths and Scottish trinkets on the walls, the smell of polished wood and whiskey, the walls bombarded with the sound of laughter.</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s a great place and I’m sorry what I said about it.</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe this date was some food god demanding retribution for his online sins.</p>
<p>“Toward the back,” Ozpin murmured, Qrow jumping at the breath on his ear, the accent palpable, in his blood.</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s gonna give me a boner in the first fucking five minutes - </em>
</p>
<p>Qrow pulled him through the crowds, teeth grit, his helmet the socially acceptable form of a battering ram to part the seas. When they reached the bar, Ozpin motioned toward the red-headed bartender, who nodded and immediately disappeared.</p>
<p>“Some service please,” Qrow said, voice raised over the clamor.</p>
<p>“He will be back. The owner is a friend,” Ozpin said.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Of course he is.</em>
</p>
<p>The bartender arrived back and motioned for them to follow. Qrow realized, as they disappeared down a hall, that the conversation around them had halted, paused until whispers started, Qrow only able to make out a few syllables.</p>
<p>
  <em>”Ozpin Pine.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Is that Chef Pine?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Look, look, it’s him – ” </em>
</p>
<p>Sure, Qrow knew Oz was famous <em>now,</em> but along with the existential moral crisis he was fighting, he had almost forgotten. And knowing Ozpin was famous was a far cry from seeing people crane their necks for a glimpse, listening to hushed whispers of his name.</p>
<p>“Something wrong?” Ozpin asked, as the clamor of the crowds died.</p>
<p>“Uh, no,” Qrow said. “Just…a lotta people recognized you.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Ozpin fell silent for a moment. “Does it bother you?”</p>
<p>“Not really. Just didn’t expect it.”</p>
<p>The bartender stopped at a door, polished, carved wood, opening it for them. “I’ll bring ye a menu,” he said in a thick Scottish accent.</p>
<p><em>“Merci,</em> Angus,” Ozpin said. He gave Qrow a gentle push into the room – small and round, like the table before them, dark wooden walls hung with tapestries, chairs like thrones with pillows, lamps lit low.</p>
<p>
  <em>You sure know how to romance a guy, Oz.</em>
</p>
<p>“Wow,” Qrow said.</p>
<p>“You like it?” Ozpin asked, his tone eager, as though worried about impressing him.</p>
<p>“Yeah – who wouldn’t?”</p>
<p>Ozpin smiled, holding eye contact for a moment too long, until he cleared his throat again, motioning to the table. “Please, sit. Angus will bring us menus. Please order whatever you would like.”</p>
<p>“You don’t gotta pay for me,” Qrow said, flopping onto a throne of warm wood, the red brocade pillow flattening under his weight. He placed his helmet on the engraved chair beside him, like a strange offering to a god.</p>
<p>“I doubt my friend will allow either of us to pay,” Ozpin said, “so please, enjoy yourself. I am sure you work too hard.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, probably. But it’s not too bad,” Qrow said. <em>Because I canned your beloved restaurant.</em></p>
<p>Angus bustled back in, two huge steins of beer in hand, sliding them in front of them, menus to follow.</p>
<p>“So,” Qrow said, pulling the giant beer toward him for courage, “tell me about yourself.”</p>
<p>“Me?” Ozpin said, his expression one of perfect surprise.</p>
<p>“You don’t like talking about yourself?”</p>
<p>“No, I – ” Ozpin laughed, reaching for his own beer. “It is not a question I get often. I presume that you looked up my name.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure,” Qrow said. “That’s how I found you on Instagram.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed, sipping his beer. “Instagram?”</p>
<p>“I was lookin’ to see you posted photos,” Qrow said, weighing the odds of a shameless flirtation and deciding they were in his favor. “You know. Shirtless mirror selfies. Maybe something of you in tight pants – ”</p>
<p><em>“Non, non,</em> stop,” Ozpin said, laughing, his cheeks pink. “You are lying.”</p>
<p>“About your ass? Not a chance.”</p>
<p>Ozpin put his hands on his cheeks, avoiding Qrow’s eyes. “You are very overt,” he murmured.</p>
<p>
  <em>All that fame and money and he’s shy?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Why does he have to be so fuckin’ cute?</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow felt the tingle he had at their first meeting, trickling down limbs and settling in his gut. “I know what I like.”</p>
<p>Ozpin’s eyes inched up at this statement. “I like you as well,” he said softly. “And I am sorry I did not tell you who I was. I thought – I do not know. That I could hide it until you liked me too much to mind the stares. Until I was sure you liked me and not the other things.”</p>
<p><em>That’s my plan for you too,</em> Qrow thought, remembering the blog with a sinking feeling.</p>
<p>“I’m already there,” he said, and felt the flip of his stomach when Ozpin reached out to take his hand. “But you know, you’re avoiding the question.”</p>
<p>Ozpin laughed. “I am. Glynda – my pâtissier – says I do not open up to people. I confess she is right more often than not.”</p>
<p>“Pâtissier, huh?”</p>
<p>“A friend. Business partner. Something like a sister, but please do not tell her so. She would gloat.” Ozpin lifted his beer again, thoughtful. “I do not know what to tell you about myself. I was born in France – Chinon, in Loire Valley. A culture of wine and food. I loved to cook and taught myself at first. Worked as a waiter in the day and a dishwasher at night, until I could convince my family to place me in a culinary school. I had to work both jobs to pay the tuition.” </p>
<p>“I know the feeling,” Qrow said.</p>
<p>“Hmm, yes, but it was not so bad. I was tired but young enough for it. Eventually I married. Eventually I divorced. And then my career became something big. I opened a restaurant in Paris. I wrote a cook book. Everything moved so fast after that.”</p>
<p>“Divorced, huh?” Qrow sipped his beer - <em>fuck,</em> the beer was good here. “And I bet you’re too busy to date now, huh.”</p>
<p>“Oh, do not,” Ozpin said playfully, striking him lightly on the arm. “I do not recall you ever being married.”</p>
<p>“Nah,” Qrow said, with a laugh. “I date – well, I did. Before my sister-in-law was sick. But I never found anyone to make me wanna settle down.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed, as though he suspected he could be that very person.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe. Just maybe.</em>
</p>
<p>“But yeah, I guess you’re right. I haven’t gone much of anywhere since Summer died, unless you count drivin’ the kids around to doctor appointments and school recitals.”</p>
<p>“Did she pass recently?” Ozpin asked softly.</p>
<p>“A little over six months now.”</p>
<p>“I am sorry.” He squeezed Qrow’s hand. “I did not realize it was so soon.”</p>
<p>“It’s all right,” Qrow said, returning the pressure. “I mean. It sucks. You know how it is – the good ones go young and the rest of us assholes are left behind.”</p>
<p>“I do not believe that you are an asshole,” Ozpin said, the word somehow hilarious in his proper, accented voice. “I think you are sweet, and kind, and – ”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, don’t ruin my rep!” Qrow said, laughing. “For you, Oz. I’ll be nice for you.”</p>
<p>“That is enough,” Ozpin said, in that lowered tone that made Qrow’s blood rush. “Just for me.”</p>
<p>“You know,” Qrow said, dropping his voice as well, “I can be bad for you too.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Ozpin leaned in, his confidence at odds with the telling flush of his cheeks. “How so? Impugn my honor on the first date?”</p>
<p>Qrow called the bluff by meeting him halfway. “I could do a lot worse to more than just your honor – ”</p>
<p>“AWRITE, GUID EENIN, OZPIN!”</p>
<p>The door burst open, the voice startling Qrow so severely that he knocked his stein, the beer sloshing over the rim; beside him, Ozpin had recoiled, his faint blush now scarlet, withdrawing his hands and looking guilty of – something.</p>
<p>
  <em>Impure thoughts, I hope.</em>
</p>
<p>“Hah,” Ozpin said, breathless. “Peter, you gave us a shock.”</p>
<p>“Awe innt my in’ent. Wha ye in for?” The man was short, comically so, with a broad chest that he puffed up as he spoke, thick white mustache wriggling.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Ozpin said, visibly struggling to compose himself. “Oh, well. Ah.” He coughed, very fake. “This is Qrow. Qrow, Peter Port. I thought I would show Qrow what your pub has to offer.”</p>
<p>“Great beer, for starters,” Qrow said, coming to Ozpin’s rescue. </p>
<p>“Aye! Any frienna Ozpin’s ‘sa frien’ o’ min.’ ‘Speci’lly un wit’ good ‘aste.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this guy even speaking English? Jesus. I will never complain about Tai’s bad kung fu dubs ever again. Although, I think he called me a “friend.” Right, well, time to see if I’m about to become a dirty little secret…</em>
</p>
<p>“Ah, well,” Ozpin said, pink-faced. “Qrow is – Qrow is…”</p>
<p>“A trusted colleague.”</p>
<p>Ozpin shot him a disapproving look. <em>“Date,”</em> Ozpin said, likely with more of an emphasis than intended. “We are…on a date.”</p>
<p>Qrow grinned, his crooked smile growing by the second. <em>He’s not ashamed of me.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Yet.</em>
</p>
<p>He felt the rock hit his stomach, and cursed his stupid brain with his stupid thoughts, and reached for Ozpin’s hand again – the electric touch zapping the thoughts from his mind.</p>
<p><em>I’m fucked,</em> he concluded, weighing the effects of Ozpin – a perfect stranger – on him already.</p>
<p>And again, Port ruined the moment, looking surprised. “Canne come ag’in?”</p>
<p>“We’re on a date. Romantic,” Qrow blurted out, wishing, with all polite intent, to kick Ozpin’s friend the hell out of the room so he could gawk at his date more.</p>
<p>Port’s eyes grew wide. “Cong’ats, Oz’in! I dinnit know ye ‘ad it inne!”</p>
<p>Ozpin muttered something in French, clearly embarrassed, but squeezed Qrow’s hand in return.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said, more loudly. “I brought him here because I knew your service was the best. If you would not mind obliging us with your personal recommendations…?”</p>
<p>“Aye! We go’ a fresh ba’ch o’ Scottish oy’ters ‘is mornin’. Not’in’ better,” Port added with an exaggerated wink. “Make for a good nigh’, if ye ge’ it.”</p>
<p>Ozpin sank down several inches in his seat as Port bustled out, his face flushing a new shade of red. He looked at Qrow desperately. “I didn’t mean for him to – ah…”</p>
<p>But Qrow’s smirk only made things worse, and he enjoyed it too much to slap off his own face. “No offense, I think your friend’s on my side if he’s trying to get you drunk off aphrodisiacs.”</p>
<p>And so help him, it was going to be a long ass night if Qrow was expected to not assault Ozpin every time his cocky-ass porcelain cheeks on their perfect cheekbones blushed cause he was too shy for his own damn good.</p>
<p>“Who says it would only be for <em>your</em> benefit?” Ozpin asked, still too pink for his cocky tone, and picked up his menu, pretending not to notice the look of perfect shock on Qrow’s face.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The evening, in Ozpin’s opinion, could not have gone better.<p>Glynda had sent him a good luck text, telling him plainly that she would consider Ozpin a perfect slut if he took Qrow home on the first date.</p>
<p>“You dare imply I am that easy?” he had written back, grinning at his phone in the back of the car.</p>
<p>“I think you’re that horny,” came the quick response, and Ozpin chuckled to himself.</p>
<p>Qrow had been waiting for him at the threshold of the pub, in a leather jacket that made him look like some manner of old Hollywood bad boy, hair mussed just enough to make Ozpin’s fingers itch to touch it. And the motorcycle helmet under his arm – very masculine, a wildness that was unlike Ozpin himself.</p>
<p>The daydreams were too good, Ozpin catching the smell of aged leather from the jacket and some subtle cologne that made Ozpin consider leaning closer to catch.</p>
<p>Or lick off his throat.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hmm. Peut-être que je suis excité…</em>
</p>
<p>Hardly his fault, with how lovely Qrow looked in the low lighting in the VIP room, the few silver strands of hair glinting like glitter, with how his voice graveled when he meant to sound flirtatious, the sound rippling over Ozpin’s skin.</p>
<p>The near-kiss was a mild disappointment, but the tension between them seemed to grow because of it. Ozpin could read the thoughts on Qrow’s face and knew his own reflected them back, pauses in the conversation leading to extended eye contact, too often interrupted by Angus or Peter.</p>
<p>By the end of dinner, the tension was almost unbearable, an exquisite agony, sparks when they brushed hands or shoulders as they left the pub.</p>
<p>Klein hadn’t arrived yet and so they wandered toward the side of the building, where Qrow had parked his motorcycle. The evening was crisp, quiet without the noise of the pub, as though by leaving they had walked into a different world entirely.</p>
<p>“I had a very good time tonight,” Ozpin said, watching the fog of his breath grow and dissipate. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Qrow said. “Me too.”</p>
<p>“I…suppose this is where we should part ways.”</p>
<p>Qrow gave him a small smirk. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed. “Because I am not. I had a <em>very</em> good time.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s smirk grew – his nervousness always vanished when Ozpin stated things with too much clarity; he was not always so overt but Qrow responded to it so well that he could not help wanting to see the smile appear.</p>
<p>“That your way of sayin’ you don’t want the night to end yet?” Qrow faced him, hands in pockets, eyes studying Ozpin like the dinner they had just finished.</p>
<p>“No, I – well.” Ozpin coughed, looking away, feeling the soft heat on his face. “I do not think I should answer that.”</p>
<p>Qrow chuckled. “Cute.”</p>
<p>“Glynda called me something very rude if I took you home,” Ozpin admitted, the confession drawing more blood to his cheeks. “And it is…difficult not to prove her right.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s chuckle grew closer, an arm stabilizing himself against the wall, closing Ozpin in. “Fair enough. How about we call it a night with just a kiss then?”</p>
<p>“I – ” Ozpin swallowed, his stomach fluttering incessantly now. “I think – I think also no.”</p>
<p>“No?” Qrow looked surprised, almost hurt. “I thought…”</p>
<p>“You think right,” Ozpin said hastily. “It’s…this is embarrassing…” He met Qrow’s eyes for a second and just as quickly looked away. “I do not know if I could trust myself. I think…if you kissed me…”</p>
<p>Qrow’s hand trailed along Ozpin’s cheek and he let out a sharp breath, struggling to remember what he was saying.</p>
<p>“You think if I kiss you, you’ll have to take me home?” Qrow spoke in a low whisper, the sound tickling Ozpin’s ear. </p>
<p>Ozpin squirmed against the sensation and the flip of his stomach.</p>
<p>“Am I so transparent?” he murmured.</p>
<p>Qrow grinned. “Naked,” he said, and Ozpin let out a sound like a whimper, unable to hold it back. He braced himself against the wall, willing to let Qrow do whatever he wanted and damn the consequences and Glynda’s smug predictions –</p>
<p>“There’s your car.”</p>
<p>Ozpin opened his eyes. Qrow was several feet away, waving at Klein. He shot Ozpin a knowing look, as though proud of ruffling Ozpin’s feathers and leaving him wanting.</p>
<p>
  <em>The bastard!</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin drew a long breath, managing a weak smile. “You are very cruel.”</p>
<p>“To both of us,” Qrow said.</p>
<p>
  <em>It is only the first date. There is no need to rush.</em>
</p>
<p>Nothing, perhaps, beyond the rush of blood to inappropriate parts.</p>
<p>“Will you walk me to the car, at least?”</p>
<p>Qrow smiled, motioning Ozpin forward. Ozpin opened the door, slipping inside, lingering longer than he knew he should.</p>
<p>“I will text you,” he said softly. “I hope you are open to a second date?”</p>
<p>“One of us will be by the end of it,” Qrow growled.</p>
<p>
  <em>Mon Dieu, he will be the death of me - </em>
</p>
<p>Then Qrow was inside the car, pushing Ozpin onto the seat, knees straddling him. Ozpin could scarcely blink before Qrow’s mouth was on him, aggressive and demanding, a hand at Ozpin’s neck, fingers in his hair –</p>
<p>The electricity was divine, hot and fevered, Ozpin’s breathing instantly ragged, eyes clenched closed as he pushed back, hands reaching for Qrow’s shoulders, trailing the muscles there, the dip of his collarbones, all the while Qrow’s lips roving across Ozpin’s, tongue pushing them open and <em>oh</em> how good he tasted –</p>
<p>When Qrow pulled away Ozpin was a mess, weak against the car seat, chest heaving, face hot, skin hot, everything so hot –</p>
<p>“Night, Oz,” Qrow whispered.</p>
<p>The door closed with Ozpin only dimly aware of it. Every part of him tingled, alight with racing blood, his brain drunk with it, a kiss almost better than sex itself.</p>
<p>“Ready to go home, sir?”</p>
<p>Klein’s voice came from somewhere far away, Ozpin hearing the note of amusement but unable to summon embarrassment for what he must have witnessed.</p>
<p><em>“Oui,”</em> Ozpin murmured faintly. He felt the car pull away from the curb and let out a long, contented sigh, humming happily to himself, still supine on the back seat.</p>
<p>Glynda would be so sick of hearing about tonight that she might finally act upon her threats of ignoring Ozpin’s calls.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Oscar heard the front door open from the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was past midnight, the end of a long evening at <em>L'oeillet Vert,</em> a surprisingly busy Monday. Ozpin rarely worked Mondays because of the weekly lull, but the wild review from <em>Peckish</em> had boosted interest even beyond the name of Ozpin Pine. Oscar usually worked Mondays <em>because</em> of the lull, able to breathe between tables and checking on orders.<p>Tonight, he had slogged to the car waiting for him, still surprised to see it after a week of being treated like Ozpin Pine’s nephew. Klein opened the door for him and he collapsed inside, feet aching, daydreaming about going home, making a late dinner, and soaking in his bathtub.</p>
<p>A private bathroom (complete with tub with jacuzzi jets), a bedroom bigger than his studio apartment, a kitchen that every chef alive would envy – living with Uncle Ozpin had immediate perks, and Oscar was not afraid to take advantage of them all, given his eccentric uncle’s whims.</p>
<p>And eccentric he was. Oscar learned a lot about Ozpin in his first week. In the kitchen, Ozpin commanded, a leader of even tone and high expectations. A general, almost, if not for his high regard for the artistic side of cooking. But at home?</p>
<p>He rarely rose before ten in the morning, silver hair wild and narrowed eyes that dared Oscar to speak before Ozpin had started the coffee (Oscar had begun to make coffee at nine thirty, seeing an immediate improvement in Ozpin’s morning moods). His moods, in fact, were like that of an overly romantic poet – hot and cold, high and low, grumbling in French when inconvenienced and prone to loud, genuine laughter when not. He put on airs – on the phone, when speaking to lawyers or publicists, and the moment the phone disconnected, he would deflate with long sighs, as though putting on the appropriate public mask drained him.</p>
<p>Oscar noticed that his accent, despite his years in America, had not faded. If anything, at times it was pronounced, as though Ozpin had once played up his native tongue for his career and it ended up sticking. Still, it was nice to hear French spoken so frequently, and it made Oscar a little less homesick when Ozpin conversed with him in it.</p>
<p>Tonight, Oscar tensed at the sound of the front door closing. Klein had dropped Oscar off and immediately taken off again to pick up Ozpin across the city.</p>
<p>“Whiny Chef’s Club?” Oscar had asked.</p>
<p>“No,” Klein said, eyes alight in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Pine has a date.”</p>
<p>“A what?” Oscar blinked. The one thing noticeably absent from Ozpin’s life was a partner (given what Oscar now knew of Glynda). “He dates?”</p>
<p>“I am surprised as well,” Klein said, smiling. “But he looked very happy when I dropped him off this evening. I hope it goes well.”</p>
<p><em>So do I,</em> Oscar thought, tilting his head around the corner, listening for a sign of what mood to expect.</p>
<p>He was met with a soft humming, the sound bouncing lightly from the foyer and down the corridor, the tune of “La Vie En Rose” but with more enthusiasm than traditional. A pause, and then –</p>
<p>“Ah, Glynda! Yes, I see the time, but you don’t go to bed this early. Unless you’re with <em>James</em> tonight,” he teased, evidently on the phone.</p>
<p>Oscar wondered if he should cough, or make a noise to indicate his presence, but the humming, the giddy tone –</p>
<p>
  <em>Guess the date went well.</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, it was <em>parfait,”</em> Ozpin sang, with a long sigh. “Low lights, good food and drink, conversation made into innuendos at every chance – no, I did not! I came straight home, despite your implications.”</p>
<p>Another pause, and a laugh that carried down, growing in volume as Ozpin made his way toward the kitchen.</p>
<p>Oscar regarded his omelet sizzling in the pan. <em>Too late to escape now.</em> But Ozpin had hardly said anything tawdry, so –</p>
<p>“Well, yes,” came the now-petulant voice, closer than ever. “Of course. One kiss, before I left. Oh, but Glynda…” Another sigh, practically lovelorn. “It was like fireworks. <em>La magie!</em> He was aggressive and used <em>exactly</em> the correct amount of tongue and I swear with the tension between us it was like a perfect prequel to sex – oh, <em>Mon Dieu!”</em></p>
<p>Ozpin had appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, dropping his phone at the sight of Oscar, red-faced, trying desperately not to burn his omelet or listen to any more of Ozpin’s descriptions.</p>
<p>
  <em>He? Well – that would explain a few things.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin flushed bright red (a trait that seemed to run in the family), scrambling to pick up his phone. “I will have to call you back,” he said hastily.</p>
<p>“What?” came the annoyed response, loud enough for Oscar to hear. “Ozpin, you can’t tell me he kissed you and then – ”</p>
<p>Ozpin disconnected, giving a nervous laugh. “I am sorry. Very sorry,” he added, clearing his throat. “I forgot that you would be up, and…ah…”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Oscar said quickly. “I just…”</p>
<p>“No, no, the fault is mine.”</p>
<p>They stood in awkward silence for a moment, Oscar wishing to sink into the floor and suspecting that Ozpin felt the same way.</p>
<p>“So,” Oscar hazarded. “The date went well?”</p>
<p>“How did you – ah. Klein.” Ozpin fidgeted with his phone. “Ah, yes. He was a perfect gentleman, I am home before midnight, and absolutely nothing improper happened <em>at all.”</em></p>
<p>His tone dared Oscar to refute the statement, even after what he had heard. </p>
<p>“Sure,” Oscar said, and Ozpin looked grateful. “So…did you want to…have a bonding moment?”</p>
<p>He almost flinched at the phrasing, but he had less than zero idea how to approach this conversation, or the knowledge that he suddenly knew exactly why Uncle Ozpin and Aunt Salem had divorced.</p>
<p>“I did promise to tell you some things,” Ozpin mused, not picking up on the joke. “And I suppose this is a good time. Please, sit, eat, rest.” He went to the wine fridge and pulled out a bottle, pouring a glass of white wine and leaning against the counter.</p>
<p>Oscar obeyed, retreating with his omelet to the bar and settling in, still reeling from what information he had already learned tonight.</p>
<p>But the silence grew, and with it the awkwardness of two people who had no idea how to become closer.</p>
<p>
  <em>I should say something. Before this gets worse.</em>
</p>
<p>“So you’re gay?” Oscar blurted.</p>
<p>
  <em>Or I can say something really stupid - </em>
</p>
<p>“You did not know?” Ozpin asked, surprised instead of offended.</p>
<p>Oscar blinked. “No, I – how would I know? You were married.”</p>
<p>Ozpin made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, taking a sip of wine. <em>“Non, non. Votre tante ne vous l'a pas dit?”</em></p>
<p>Oscar shook his head. “She doesn’t mention you much,” he said, switching to French as well.</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed. <em>“Non, elle ne voudra pas.”</em> He sighed, running a hand through his hair absently. “What did she tell you?”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t really mention you at all, but when she does, it’s never by name. She calls you <em>le blaireau.”</em></p>
<p>Ozpin shrugged. “All is fair, eh?”</p>
<p>Oscar finally dug into his dinner. “Other than the fact that she doesn’t like you, I don’t really know anything.”</p>
<p>“That is kind of her,” Ozpin said, his voice devoid of irony. “To make a long story less so, we married young. I loved her – as much as I could. As much as I thought a man loves a woman. In time I knew I had lied, to her and myself. Her family was wealthy where mine was not, she helped support me through culinary school, helped open my first restaurant, and I repaid her by confessing that I could never love her the way she deserved.”</p>
<p>Oscar listened, rapt, eating in silence. <em>Aunt Salem never mentioned</em> this.</p>
<p>“When I left, it took less than a year for my restaurant to become famous. And then the book – ” Ozpin shrugged again, raising his glass. “I went from poor amateur cook to household name in France very quickly after the divorce. I do not wonder at her bitterness. She is entitled to it.”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t mean to hurt her,” Oscar interjected, hearing the note of sadness in Ozpin’s voice. “You didn’t plot to take her money and leave her.”</p>
<p>“But I could have been more honest,” Ozpin countered. “I could have listened to my youthful doubts about who I am. I could have spared her.” He fell silent, his eyes far away as he gazed into his wine. “She was my best friend, and I mistook that for something else. I suppose…” He sighed, sipping his wine. “I wanted to be the man she thought I was.”</p>
<p>Oscar listened silently; Aunt Salem had always been kind to him, and rarely said anything negative about Uncle Ozpin, but now he felt like he knew why. Both hurt, even after all these years. Both lonely.</p>
<p>
  <em>They both deserve second chances, and it sounds like Uncle Ozpin has one.</em>
</p>
<p>“You seem honest now,” Oscar offered.</p>
<p>“Oh, I am. Painfully so at times,” Ozpin chuckled. </p>
<p>“So are you going to tell me about your date?” Oscar said, grinning.</p>
<p>Ozpin colored instantly. “No!” he declared. “Nothing happened! Nothing at all!”</p>
<p>“Come on, Uncle Ozpin, I’m not a kid – ”</p>
<p>“You are close enough!” Ozpin motioned fruitlessly with his wine.</p>
<p>“I heard what you told Glynda – ”</p>
<p>“You heard <em>nothing!</em> He is a sweet, kind gentleman! We had dinner and held hands and so far as you are ever concerned, that is where it ends!” </p>
<p>
  <em>“Ce ñ'est pas vrai!”</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin’s phone buzzed and he picked it up, thumb swiping the screen absently.</p>
<p>“Glynda,” he said. “No doubt going to lecture me about hanging up on – ” His voice broke off and Oscar looked up from his plate to see Ozpin flush a new shade of pink.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>mon Dieu,”</em> he murmured.</p>
<p>“What is it? Is something wrong?” Oscar asked, craning his neck toward the phone.</p>
<p>Ozpin withdrew as though stung. “No,” he said, too quickly. “Ah – no. It is my date, telling me goodnight.”</p>
<p>Oscar raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Do not look at me like that. It is very innocent!”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Oscar said, trying not to laugh. “Do you have a photo of him?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes,” Ozpin said, with a smile, fingers moving on his screen. “Let me – no, wait a moment, ah – ”</p>
<p>“One with his clothes on?” Oscar offered, if only to see Ozpin blush more deeply.</p>
<p>“I do not know what you mean. These are all very – ah, here!” He presented the phone to Oscar, a candid photo of a man with dark hair and five o’clock shadow. Good-looking, sure, with high cheekbones and eyes crinkled as though about to laugh. “This is Qrow, <em>mon poussin.”</em></p>
<p>A man that look extremely familiar.</p>
<p>“I know him,” Oscar said, taking the phone from Ozpin, eyebrows knit as he tried to recall from where. “He was – oh! He was at <em>L'oeillet Vert!”</em> It came back quickly now, the cursed table, the table that he served his first meal as a chef under Ozpin’s eye –</p>
<p>“No, he said he’s never been to it,” Ozpin said, taking the phone back and giving the man’s face a long look. “I asked him tonight at dinner. He said he could not get in with the wait times.”</p>
<p>Oscar frowned. He was <em>positive</em> the man was familiar, the same scruffy appearance that told him not to fret about the recalled lettuce, the late drinks, the misplaced orders –</p>
<p>But why would he lie to Ozpin about being there?</p>
<p>“I will have to invite him,” Ozpin said, oblivious to the conflict on Oscar’s face. “It would be nice to make him something special…”</p>
<p>The night Oscar dropped the steak tartare. The night the Grim Eater wrote a review of <em>L'oeillet Vert</em> -</p>
<p>
  <em>Could he be…?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No, that would be insane. Maybe he just looked a lot like the scruffy guy with the little girls – </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But he had ordered a lot of food. A lot for one guy and two kids. Almost like he was trying to cover the range of the menu. Like a critic would.</em>
</p>
<p>No, it couldn’t be.</p>
<p>What had he ordered? What had the Grim Eater reviewed?</p>
<p>The duck, the <em>coq au vin,</em> two popular entrees –</p>
<p>“What is it?” Ozpin asked, reading his face.</p>
<p>“Does he have kids?” Oscar asked.</p>
<p>“Hmm? No. Well – he has two nieces that are close enough. A little blonde girl and a red head who has the cutest smile – ”</p>
<p><em>Oh no.</em> </p>
<p>“When can I meet him?” Oscar asked, forcing an evenness to his voice.</p>
<p>“Ah, well – I do not wish to rush things – ah, there is Glynda again, come to shout at me.” Ozpin motioned at Oscar’s plate. “Eat before it grows cold, and get to bed soon.” He answered the phone, his tone soothing, placating the temper on the other end.</p>
<p>Oscar sat and stared at his dinner, listening to Ozpin’s happy voice fade as he went upstairs, all praise for the apparently wonderful date he had just had. Oscar leaned back in his chair, stomach sinking.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe this isn’t what it looks like.</em>
</p>
<p>But in the silent kitchen, he couldn’t find another explanation except the obvious.</p>
<p>Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket, searching for the blog, skimming the review of the restaurant.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I want French fries!” the little redheaded girl had said.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s not that kind of French, Ruby.”</em>
</p>
<p>And in the blog –</p>
<p>
  <em>“In short, two wrongs don’t make a right. I mean, why couldn’t they make a decent French appetizer, like French fries?”</em>
</p>
<p>Two many coincidences. It had to be the same guy.</p>
<p>Oscar’s mind raced with the reasons Ozpin’s date would lie about being at the restaurant.</p>
<p>On the night <em>Peckish</em> published a review of it.</p>
<p>Only one reason made sense.</p>
<p>
  <em>How do I tell Uncle Ozpin he’s dating the Grim Eater?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ozpin and Qrow have their second date; Qrow struggles to confess his sins; Oscar takes action regarding what he knows about the Grim Eater.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ozpin stood in the oval of white cast onto the darkened porch, bag of cocktail supplies in hand and nothing more. He felt distinctly out of place – in a suburb of the city that he never knew existed, at the doorstep of a home with all signs of children (finger-painted planters and plastic toys left in the yard), a meaningful home-cooked dinner that he was not preparing.</p>
<p>He hadn’t even brought his chef’s knife.</p>
<p>At Qrow’s insistence, of course.</p>
<p>“I said I’d cook for you, and I’m gonna cook for you,” he had said on the phone, repeatedly, when Ozpin sounded distressed. “You do this every day. Let me.”</p>
<p>And at last Ozpin had relented, for fear that he might insult Qrow by suggesting that his skills were not adequate.</p>
<p>And so. Naked without his knife, at the mercy of everything unfamiliar. </p>
<p>But there was an excitement in his blood, alighting when he pushed the doorbell, shifting his feet nervously. He scarcely knew what to expect from a second date with Qrow, at his home, eating his food, drinking cocktails away from the public eye.</p>
<p><em>Well.</em> He had <em>some</em> ideas.</p>
<p>He wondered if Qrow would try to sleep with him.</p>
<p>
  <em>If I say yes before the third date, does that make me a slut by Glynda’s American standards?</em>
</p>
<p>He decided, upon hearing approaching footsteps, that he liked Qrow entirely too much to mind either way, their first kiss echoing in his mind like a warm, pleasant dream.</p>
<p>Qrow opened the door, light spilling out over Ozpin.</p>
<p>“Hey, Oz,” he said, with that wonderfully crooked smirk, like he could read all the thoughts Ozpin had just had about him.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Qrow,” he said, unable to keep from smiling back.</p>
<p>“Hope you’re hungry,” Qrow said, stepping aside to let him in.</p>
<p>“For you? Always.”</p>
<p>Qrow raised his eyebrows, smirk becoming a grin.</p>
<p>“I brought ingredients for the drinks,” Ozpin said lightly, pretending not to notice. “I hope you’re thirsty.”</p>
<p>“For you – always.” The words came, low and close enough to Ozpin’s ear to make him shiver.</p>
<p>
  <em>At this rate, we may not even get to dinner. Je n'avais jamais fait l'amour dans une cuisine auparavant.</em>
</p>
<p>“I’d take your coat,” Qrow said, his face all amusement, “but you seem cold.”</p>
<p><em>“Non,”</em> Ozpin murmured, his blood already too hot. “Please.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s lips twitched as he slipped the coat from Ozpin’s shoulders. Ozpin tried to think of innocuous things rather than the firm fingers that ran down his back, the sudden wondering if Qrow was inclined to drag nails along skin when he –</p>
<p>“It smells lovely,” Ozpin said, almost startling himself by the loudness of his voice. “And you have a beautiful home.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Qrow chuckled, hanging Ozpin’s coat in an entry closet free, and guiding the chef to a quaint kitchen table – heavily marked through years of use, but well cared for nonetheless – topped with a small vase of fresh flowers. “Our interior decorators are the best in town. They insisted on pulling out all the stops,” he added gesturing to the modest bouquet of mismatched flowers. “They coached me all day yesterday for tonight. Even helped pick out the meal. You’d be surprised what you can do with leftover McDonald’s…”</p>
<p>Ozpin shot his date a sharp glance, Qrow already laughing at his reaction.</p>
<p>“Tease,” he said.</p>
<p>
  <em>I do hope you are more than talk tonight, my dear.</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“If you only knew,” Qrow remarked, feeling the laugher edge the line to awkward. He hadn’t been this nervous since high school when he mistook a hot new teacher for a student and invited them to an unsanctioned party he’d planned.<p><em>Get it together, buddy,</em> Qrow chided himself, pulling the chair from the table to seat his date. </p>
<p>
  <em>My incredibly handsome, out-of-my-league date. </em>
</p>
<p><em>God, he is going to kill me when he finds out I wrote that review.</em> </p>
<p>Qrow cleared his throat, turning his attention to the food, and his back to Ozpin, his hands mindlessly plating the appetizers. “Hope you like figs in a blanket,” he said returning to Ozpin, placing the plate on the table, too late noticing the rolls expertly formed in the shape of a smiley face.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p>
<p>He was gonna make some kind of impression to a world-class chef tonight, all right.</p>
<p>But Ozpin chuckled. “Charming,” he said. His hand, however, hesitated to take one, biting his bottom lip as though struggling to retain a polite expression. “Did you say…pigs in a blanket?” </p>
<p><em>“Figs,”</em> Qrow corrected. “Goat cheese and balsamic vinegar. S’matter, don’t like sausage?”</p>
<p>Ozpin’s eyes darted back to Qrow’s face as he obliged. “I know enough English slang to understand that innuendo,” he murmured. “Are you suggesting that is the first course?” He popped the small pastry into his mouth.</p>
<p>Qrow smirked, noting the faint tinge of pink that it caused on Ozpin’s cheeks. “You’ll have to wait for that. We’re havin’ Taco Tuesday a little early.”</p>
<p>“Tacos?” Ozpin asked, looking up from a second pastry. “Hmm. You hope to impress me with tacos? These pastries are quite good, by the way.”</p>
<p>Qrow grinned, pulling two champagne flutes from the cabinet. “Have a few drinks and I’ll impress easier,” he said. “Or you’ll be more willing to skip to dessert.”</p>
<p>“You to consider yourself so sweet?” Ozpin said, with a wry smile. “But very well, I do not mind being bartender tonight.”</p>
<p>Qrow watched him unload the bottles on the countertop opposite, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna let me see what’s in your fancy drink, or is it a trade secret?”</p>
<p>Ozpin turned his head slightly. “I just imagined that you would prefer this view for a moment.”</p>
<p><em>Jesus, and he said I’m the charmer,</em> Qrow mused, his mind becoming lost in appreciation of the perfect view of Ozpin’s backside. <em>You’re not wrong…</em></p>
<p>A little too much appreciation, because eventually Ozpin turned, his expression concerned for a moment before his eyes caught Qrow’s, and he laughed aloud.</p>
<p>“I thought perhaps I had offended you,” he said, reaching for the champagne. “But I see that was not the case.” He popped the cork with a satisfied smile, filling a flute and offering it to Qrow.</p>
<p>“Only by wearing clothes,” Qrow said, his thoughts voiced aloud before he realized.</p>
<p>Ozpin’s face went blank, then pink, and then he laughed again, reaching for his own glass. “I think we both need one of these,” he said, “or else I really will be tempted to skip the dinner you’ve worked so hard to make. My own recipe – a French 75 with ginger syrup.”</p>
<p><em>Charming, successful, so hot I wouldn’t notice my hand on a burner if I was picturing him naked, an accent to die for, probably rich…and somehow interested.</em> </p>
<p>Qrow cleared his throat to keep himself from accepting Ozpin’s offer of skipping dinner – he couldn’t. Not knowing Ozpin may slap him unconscious and bolt for the door with one teeny tiny piece of critical information.</p>
<p>Qrow offered his glass to the air in toast, still smiling at Ozpin’s charisma despite Qrow’s inner protests. “Mmm. We’ll see if after dinner you are still interested. Do you celebrate Taco Tuesday in France?”</p>
<p>“You make it sound like dinner will change my mind,” Ozpin said, laughing anew. “No, I cannot say that Mexican food has the same traditions there as here, but once in a while, I can be tempted to discard utensils.”</p>
<p>“Bet you’re good with your hands…” Qrow daydreamed aloud.</p>
<p>Ozpin choked on his drink, turning pink again. “I’m very good with a knife – well, no – I mean, yes, I am, but that isn’t…ah – ” He closed his mouth, pink darkening to red, raising his glass to his lips as though to prevent speaking further. </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, he’s cute.</em>
</p>
<p>He remembered the casual lecture from the knife aisle.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is it really nine inches, I wonder?</em>
</p>
<p>Better not fuck it up and never find out.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Qrow sighed, shaking his head. “I hope I’m not coming off too strong. It’s just…you’re so damn attractive I find myself saying things before I realize I’m thinking them. Hope I’m not ruining that first date glow.”</p>
<p><em>“Non.</em> No, I…” Ozpin touched his cheek as if to will down the blush. “Thank you for that confidence. To tell the truth, I am very…out of practice with dating. I do not flirt well in French, let alone English. I am nervous that I will say the wrong thing and scare you off.”</p>
<p>Qrow barked a laugh. “Well, you’ve been acing the flirting so far. Here I thought French women were all about being coy and playing hard-to-get, but I guess it’s different for the men. You’re the perfect balance of forward and reserved, that I just…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t want to tell you I’m the asshole who canned your restaurant.</em>
</p>
<p>“Honestly, I doubt you could scare me off even if you tried. Well, with words anyway. I’d probably get too distracted by how sexy your accent is and forget you were telling me to fuck off.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I on the other hand, will be scaring you off for good in approximately two hours. Better make the best of it.</em>
</p>
<p>“Then I will not worry about it,” Ozpin said. “It seems we are both very much on the same page…about everything.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Except for the webpage about your restaurant. And the emails.</em>
</p>
<p>“Besides,” Ozpin said, shrugging. “I cannot foresee telling you to fuck off.”</p>
<p>Qrow laughed – Ozpin swearing was somehow sexy, like he was too good to say vulgar words.</p>
<p>“I would rather tell you to fuck something else.”</p>
<p>Qrow choked on his drink, eyes tearing up at the sting in his throat, burning as he tried to swallow. His arms flailed while Ozpin leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his cocktail with an impossibly smug expression.</p>
<p>“Are you tryin’ to kill me?” Qrow asked, voice hoarse.</p>
<p>Ozpin laughed, rising from his seat. “I am sorry. Let me get you a glass of water.”</p>
<p>Qrow accepted, giving Ozpin a long look. “You like givin’ me a hard time too much.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, I would say the same of you, my dear.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Can’t argue with that. In fact, I’d like to give him a different kind of hard time – </em>
</p>
<p>“Okay, honest review time,” Qrow said, clearing his throat and his mind of bad innuendos. “Round one. How were the figs in a blanket?”</p>
<p>“Excellent! There is an elegant simplicity to figs and goat cheese. I look forward to your interpretation of tacos.” He rose from his seat, taking Qrow’s empty glass. “Another for my hard-working chef?”</p>
<p>Qrow grinned, pushing himself up and heading back to the stovetop. Everything had been prepped ahead of time, leaving only the meat to be seared and the tacos assembled. He flipped the gas on, eyes drifting to where Ozpin mixed drinks, his hips swaying as he hummed to himself. Only when the oil began to crackle did he turn back around – if he wasn’t careful, Ozpin’s hips would burn dinner <em>and</em> the house down. </p>
<p>Their second drinks were halfway gone when Qrow placed dinner on the table, Ozpin having waited quietly, patiently, watching Qrow cook as if he was only politely waiting for dinner and not what they both seemed to know would follow.</p>
<p>
  <em>If he doesn’t really tell me to fuck off first.</em>
</p>
<p>But before that – Ozpin’s face when he took his first bite, motioning fruitlessly with a hand as he chewed.</p>
<p>“Good?” Qrow said, already grinning.</p>
<p><em>“Mon Dieu,</em> how did you marinate this? It’s – ” Ozpin motioned again, struggling for words. “It’s not like any taco I have had.”</p>
<p>“Proprietary blend,” Qrow said, still grinning when Ozpin shot him a sideways glance.</p>
<p>“Hmm, I could torture it out of you,” he said.</p>
<p>“Torture doesn’t sound too bad, if you like a little pain,” Qrow said, and laughed when Ozpin choked on his second bite. “You’ve got a little somethin’ there.” He reached out to wipe sauce from Ozpin’s lip –</p>
<p> – only to feel Ozpin clamp his mouth around Qrow’s fingers, supple tongue dragged across his fingertips.</p>
<p>
  <em>Holy fucking shit – </em>
</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Ozpin said, pink but pleased with himself, pretending not to see Qrow’s shocked expression.</p>
<p>For too long, Qrow was lost in thought of Ozpin’s lips wrapped around other anatomy, that soft tongue –</p>
<p>
  <em>You weren’t kidding about the torture.</em>
</p>
<p>“I bet you taste better…” Qrow whispered, still studying Ozpin’s mouth.</p>
<p>Ozpin met his eyes despite the flush of his face. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” he murmured.</p>
<p>And then his phone trilled.</p>
<p>Ozpin’s face went blank. “I – pardon, let me just see if that is something important.” He fished out his phone, glancing at the screen. “It’s my nephew,” he said absently, scrolling. “He sent – hmm, this is a strange text.” Ozpin’s eyes darted back and forth, eyebrows knitting.</p>
<p>Qrow dropped his taco onto his plate. The interruption broke him from the fantasy and he gave a hefty sigh, wiping up his fingers, now preoccupied with the confession he knew he had to make, and make before things heated up any more.</p>
<p>He cleared his throat, the dread too much to bear.</p>
<p>“Look – ah…there’s something I need to tell you. And uh…you…aren’t going to like it. But I can’t not tell you and have us – this…” He gestured uselessly at the two of them.</p>
<p>Ozpin lifted his eyes, locking firmly on Qrow.</p>
<p>“Are you the Grim Eater?” he asked abruptly.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Oscar’s text was long, odd, an apology for possibly ruining Ozpin’s current date. Ozpin read it incredulously, Oscar explaining the night the review had been posted, how he was certain Qrow had been there with his nieces –<p>
  <em>This must be nonsense.</em>
</p>
<p>But then Qrow looked so serious, saying he had to confess something, and the horror of it all possibly being true began to sink in.</p>
<p>“…yeah,” Qrow said, his voice weary. “Yeah, I’m the Grim Eater.” The statement came with a wince, as though Qrow expected some violence in return for it. </p>
<p>But Ozpin merely sat, trying to translate the words into something that made sense.</p>
<p>
  <em>It can’t be. This must be some manner of bad joke.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin stared, waiting for the punchline.</p>
<p>Qrow stared back.</p>
<p>Ozpin waited for – a punchline, or a laugh at his expression, or –</p>
<p>Anything but the blank, anxious face in front of him.</p>
<p>“If this is a joke,” Ozpin said slowly, “I do not find it funny.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a joke.”</p>
<p>Ozpin was shaking his head without fully understanding why. “I don’t – why would – ”</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s serious.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin blinked, glancing down at his empty glass.</p>
<p><em>Qrow? Qrow is – I’m </em>dating<em> the man who wrote that column?</em></p>
<p>He opened his mouth, but words – French or English or any other language – eluded him. From beside him, Qrow stared with pleading eyes.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean any of it,” Qrow said, the words rushed. “It wasn’t meant to be insulting – well, it was, but not like you think – ”</p>
<p>It was too much to take at once.</p>
<p>Ozpin pushed his chair back, legs carrying him away from the table.</p>
<p>“Oz, wait – ”</p>
<p>“I think we both need this,” Ozpin said, returning to his seat, champagne bottle in hand. He poured himself a refill, rubbing his eyes.</p>
<p>Qrow only watched him, waiting for him to say more.</p>
<p>“Explain,” Ozpin said.</p>
<p>The word came out more harshly than intended, Qrow flinching at the coldness.</p>
<p>
  <em>If he is who he says he is, a flinch is the least of his worries.</em>
</p>
<p>“It was a game. For the girls,” Qrow said, looking miserable. “We used to go out a lot, you know. When their mother was alive. We made okay money, and Tai liked to take the girls to new places to try new things. It was like…a family tradition.</p>
<p>“When Summer died, the girls were so sad – they barely spoke. Barely ate. I had to do <em>something.</em> So I made up a stupid game. Once in a while, we’d go out to a restaurant they chose, and they would help me write a silly review about it like they were upscale critics. I only posted them online so they could be proud of their work and have something to look at when they were sad. You should have seen the look in their eyes when they thought they were in marketing like their mom was – I mean. Shit, Oz. We never expected it to go viral. We never meant to hurt anyone, it was just for fun and…”</p>
<p>Qrow sat back, utterly defeated.</p>
<p>“I never thought anyone would read them,” he finished.</p>
<p>Of all the explanations, this was not one Ozpin had foreseen. He sat, glass forgotten in hand, struggling to understand.</p>
<p>“Your…girls wrote that review?” he asked at last.</p>
<p>“Yeah…I mean most of it. I don’t give ‘em alcohol or anything, so that’s me, but I take inspiration from their smelling notes. It’s…it’s just a coupla kids making up nonsense for fun. Like the movie with the rat that cooks.”</p>
<p>“Movie?”</p>
<p>“It’s a kids’ movie. Look, the girls aren’t old enough to realize their words could hurt people. As their dad, I should have. I shoulda thought for a second before thinking posting this was a good idea. But Oz. They laughed. They smiled. For the first time in <em>weeks.</em> I needed that. They needed it.”</p>
<p>He was near tears, speaking on behalf of a family, broke and broken, and Ozpin felt his heart soften.</p>
<p>“That…actually explains a great deal,” Ozpin murmured into his wine. “It is somewhat comforting to know that you do not have a child’s aversion to vegetables. But I…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Can I get past this? Knowing what he wrote about me? About my friends?</em>
</p>
<p>“Look, I’d be lying if I said I’d take it all back,” Qrow said, eyes pleading. “It saved the girls. Hell, it saved me. Once it got popular, I…took money from advertisers. It was how I could afford places like yours. It pays for bills. Clothes on their backs. The girls would never be able to – I can’t give them what they deserve, Oz. I know I fucked up, but I – ” His shoulders fell, a hand running anxiously through his hair. </p>
<p>“I’d do anything for them.”</p>
<p>Ozpin watched the despondent expression on Qrow’s face, feeling the evaporation of his former anger, the gentle tug at his heart. </p>
<p>How could he hold onto it, when he watched a man’s heart break in front of him?</p>
<p>
  <em>What has he done to me, really, besides offend my pride? When he struggled so badly to support his family - </em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin sighed. “You have offended quite a few of my friends,” he said. “And I – well. You already know what I had to say. But…if you are telling the truth now, that you did this for them…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Impossible to be angry with him, despite the awful things he wrote. Not for the girls’ sake.</em>
</p>
<p>He glanced back up at the imploring eyes watching him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Not when he looks like a sad puppy.</em>
</p>
<p>“You have a lot to make up to me, it seems,” Ozpin said, with more confidence than he felt.</p>
<p>A new expression flashed over Qrow’s face – disbelief.</p>
<p>“Really?” he asked, almost breathless.</p>
<p>“My pride isn’t so wounded,” Ozpin said, fairly certain it was, but unable to admit it now that he knew two children had caused the injury.</p>
<p>“Any chance I can start makin’ it up in the bedroom?” Qrow asked, a lopsided smile growing.</p>
<p>Ozpin swallowed his champagne too quickly, coughing lightly. “I – ah, well, I – ” He cleared his throat, shooting Qrow a stern look that died at the sight of Qrow’s hopeful grin. “I haven’t forgiven you <em>that</em> easily,” he said, continuing to lie to himself. “Let me talk myself into it.”</p>
<p>Qrow made a zipping motion over his lips, reaching for the wine bottle.</p>
<p>“Firstly,” Ozpin said, leaning back, “you didn’t really write those things. Secondly, you did this for the girls, and I am not so heartless to say that isn’t a mitigating circumstance. Thirdly, you told me before – ahem, well. You told me in a timely manner.” </p>
<p>He tapped his glass, trying not to look at the increasingly optimistic expression on Qrow’s face, which only served to distract him.</p>
<p>“I…suppose that, given how well we get along, I should not allow my pride to stand in the way. One bad review…can be forgotten. Eventually.”</p>
<p>“In the girls’ defense, they loved your food. Inhaled it. Didn’t even question the vegetables.”</p>
<p>Ozpin looked away, chin raised. “Oh? And what did you think?”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding? I coulda died that night and it still woulda been the best night of my life.”</p>
<p>
  <em>He begs so well.</em>
</p>
<p>“What was your favorite?” Ozpin asked, crossing his legs carelessly.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna make me choose?” Qrow scrunched his brows. “The, uh, cheese puffs – ”</p>
<p>“Gougères.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, those. Unreal. And the duck – ” </p>
<p>“You liked my duck?” Ozpin asked, suspicious.</p>
<p>“If I had to pick, it was probably my favorite,” Qrow admitted. “Felt pretty shitty saying what I did about it.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Hmm, perhaps he has taste after all.</em>
</p>
<p>“That is one of my oldest recipes,” Ozpin said softly. “Perhaps how my career began.”</p>
<p>“I can see why,” Qrow said eagerly. “And uh, what else did I order – oh! Steak tartare. I wasn’t sure how I felt about raw meat, but you changed my mind on that.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” Ozpin sat up. “My nephew – he was your waiter that night.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah? Good kid. Kept the drinks comin’.”</p>
<p>“Not just a waiter,” Ozpin said, pride seeping into his voice. “A future chef. He dropped your steak and I made him remake it. You were his first customer as a chef.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Qrow said, a smile forming. “That’s – ” Just as quickly, his face fell. “Oh, shit, the things I said about it – ”<br/>“Never mind it,” Ozpin said, unlocking his phone. “I will tell him you actually approved, and I’m sure he will forgive as quickly as I have.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s eyes shot up. “You – do you really – ”</p>
<p>“Provided you continue to beg this well,” Ozpin said lightly, as he typed.</p>
<p>Qrow managed a weak laugh. “Then I look forward to making it up to you. Would you care for dessert now?”</p>
<p>“Please. Impress me.” </p>
<p>“Already have,” Qrow said, his confidence returning. “Maybe not in good ways, but I’d say that review – ” He caught the look on Ozpin face and quickly closed his mouth. “Not ready to laugh about it, got it.”</p>
<p>But the absurdity of it all <em>did</em> make Ozpin laugh, the champagne and good food in his stomach encouraging it. Qrow grinned at the sound, flailing about in the kitchen while Ozpin sat back and watched the show.</p>
<p>Oscar’s reply came quickly, asking too many questions that Ozpin was not in the mood to answer.</p>
<p><em>It appears you are right,</em> he wrote in French. <em>I am dating the Grim Eater. I will explain later. At the moment, he is making it up to me, and I suspect it will take all night.</em></p>
<p>An implication that would make his poor nephew blush, but would also keep him from texting back.</p>
<p>“D’you like spicy food?”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind a little heat,” Ozpin said, hearing the innuendo in his voice and letting it stand.</p>
<p>“Oh – hah,” Qrow said, the remark throwing him again. He placed a fondue pot before Ozpin with a graceless flair. “Chile chocolate fondue. Ta-da.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Ozpin said. “Romantic.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not thinkin’ of spilling some on your shirt so you have an excuse to take it off.” Qrow offered him a strawberry, their fingers touching briefly.</p>
<p>“Why did you not tell me about the blog immediately?” Ozpin asked softly, dipping the fruit in the pot.</p>
<p>“Oh. Uh.” Qrow fidgeted. “Gotta say it was selfish. I…really liked you, you know, and I thought if I told you before you fell madly in love with me, you’d call me a few choice words and never see me again.”</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled, popping the fruit in his mouth. It melted with the chocolate, Ozpin closing his eyes briefly to savor it. The heat came slowly, building as he swallowed, mingling with the sweetness of the strawberry.</p>
<p>“I did call you some things,” Ozpin said. “Some colorful phrases in French. My nephew lectured me for my language.”</p>
<p>“Hah. Yeah, well. I deserved it. How’s the chocolate?”</p>
<p>“Wonderful. Quite a bite at the end.” Ozpin reached for another. “But I understand not telling me. I was also afraid to tell you who I was when it was obvious you did not know. I had hoped to tell you in person, so that your first impression of me was not whatever the internet has painted me.”</p>
<p>“My first impression,” Qrow said, “was that you were nice, and hot, and that we had some kinda chemistry. Off the <em>charts</em> chemistry.”</p>
<p>Ozpin raised his eyes, watching Qrow eat a strawberry, chocolate on his lips.</p>
<p>“On that, I agree. Excuse me.” He killed the moment, pulling his phone out once more and sending another quick text.</p>
<p>“Something wrong?” Qrow asked, looking nervous again.</p>
<p>“No, no,” Ozpin said, reaching for another strawberry. “Merely telling my driver that I will not require him tonight.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s face cleared, perfect surprise. “You – oh, you – okay. Good,” he stammered. “I – ”</p>
<p><em>“Vous en avez assez dit,”</em> Ozpin murmured, leaning over to do <em>something</em> about the chocolate on Qrow’s mouth.</p>
<p>Qrow might be some kind of fool, but he was not fool enough to mistake Ozpin’s motive now, meeting him halfway, letting out a sharp breath when Ozpin’s tongue gently licked the chocolate from his bottom lip, sucking on it for just a moment, sweet and hot, the same electricity Ozpin had felt at their first date –</p>
<p>Qrow pulled him closer with mild violence, Ozpin’s chair squeaking along the linoleum. Ozpin’s eyes widened at the grip on his waist, at the tongue that returned the attention with twice as much passion. The moan escaped him, soft, impossible to restrain with the very desperate way Qrow wanted him. Ozpin’s hand blindly groped for Qrow’s shoulders, fingers intwining in his hair, their kisses hard and fevered now, too many days since their first and too many nights wanting more. Ozpin’s blood was hot, his groin already aching –</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s been so long, and he is too good - </em>
</p>
<p>Qrow withdrew, just enough for Ozpin to feel the heat of his breath, panting, pupils dilated. A moment’s pause before Ozpin leaned in to kiss him again, but Qrow pulled back.</p>
<p>“I said I’d make it up to you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He offered Ozpin a brief kiss and then slipped from his chair, onto the floor –</p>
<p>“Should I start on my knees?” he asked, bright eyes gazing up at Ozpin, hands inching up his calves.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin swallowed loudly, letting Qrow part his thighs, his heart pounding. But Qrow didn’t immediately reach for Ozpin’s belt or zipper, hands traveling upward to his shirt, popping each button with deliberate slowness, his eyes meeting Ozpin’s as though to drag out the anticipation. </p>
<p>
  <em>Plus vite š'il vous plaît - </em>
</p>
<p>At last, the shirt was open, Qrow’s fingertips just brushing Ozpin’s flesh, lingering along his waist. The ache of his groin was unbearable now, watching Qrow’s confident face as he gently unraveled Ozpin, hands trailing the belt with agonizing leisureliness. </p>
<p>“For goodness’ sake,” Ozpin whispered.</p>
<p>“What was that?” Qrow asked.</p>
<p>“You are not making it up to me very – ”</p>
<p>Qrow gripped his cock and Ozpin arched off the chair, the rest of the sentence devolved into a desperate moan, sparks shooting into every part of him.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ah, yes, please – ” </em>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know a lot of French,” Qrow growled, “but I know those words.”</p>
<p>Ozpin fell back against the chair, panting, some part of him realizing he was speaking French but glad that Qrow understood. </p>
<p>“You beg pretty well too,” he whispered, running a palm up Ozpin’s length, too slow, dragging a soft, tortured noise from him. Everything was heat, pressure just below where Qrow’s hands worked on Ozpin’s belt, Ozpin watching Qrow pop the button of his pants, reaching for the zipper.</p>
<p>“Impatient?” Qrow whispered at the acceleration of Ozpin’s breath.</p>
<p>“Do not pretend you are not,” Ozpin murmured.</p>
<p>Qrow grinned, tugging the zipper down, making a noise of appreciation. “That didn’t take long, did it?” he said, motioning at the bulge of Ozpin’s boxers. “Bit desperate, Oz - <em>fuck!”</em></p>
<p>Ozpin had wriggled a foot free from his shoe, Qrow doubling over as Ozpin nudged his groin, feeling the hardness there.</p>
<p>“You were saying…?” Ozpin teased breathlessly.</p>
<p>Qrow growled, hands wrenching down Ozpin’s boxers –</p>
<p>The wet heat of Qrow’s mouth made Ozpin melt, his startled moan devolving into something guttural at the back of his throat, Qrow’s mouth <em>wonderful,</em> pleasure ricocheting from his cock to his toes and fingertips, Ozpin’s hands reaching to grasp Qrow’s hair, knuckles clenching when Qrow’s tongue ran up his length.</p>
<p>“Ah - <em>ah - </em> Qrow – ”</p>
<p>Qrow hollowed his cheeks and a hand cupped Ozpin’s balls and he moaned so loudly he covered his mouth, back arching deeper into Qrow’s throat.</p>
<p>Qrow laughed, Ozpin trembling at the vibration, the pleasure and pressure building too quickly, Ozpin’s hands leaving Qrow’s hair to seize the seat of the chair, hips bucking as Qrow bobbed faster, <em>faster - </em></p>
<p>“Oh, oh, <em>oh - </em></p>
<p>God, he was good, mouth moving like an expert, tongue dancing along the tip, Ozpin’s head falling backward at the hot tingles that ran through his blood, the pressure – the <em>need</em> for more –</p>
<p><em>“Qrow – ah!”</em> Not much of a warning, the orgasm too quick, relief spent into Qrow’s mouth, Ozpin grasping at the chair with white knuckles, back arching entirely off –</p>
<p>He collapsed in the chair heavily, limbs tingling, hands eased from their desperate hold, eyelids fluttering as he regarded Qrow’s smug expression below.</p>
<p>“I am sorry,” Ozpin murmured weakly, sagging against the chair. “I did not mean – I did not know – ”</p>
<p>“Just means I did my job,” Qrow said, wiping his mouth with a wink. “You just find me so sexy you can’t hold it in.”</p>
<p>“Exactly so,” Ozpin said softly, as Qrow rose on his knees to kiss him.</p>
<p>“Besides,” Qrow said, between the gentle press of their lips, “you taste pretty good. I can prove it.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed, smiling against his mouth. “But I fear this ended things too quickly. I should have to make it up to you now.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Qrow said, his kisses becoming harder. “What d’you have in mind?”</p>
<p>“There is,” Ozpin said, each phrase whispered between kisses, “a part of me you were admiring earlier. Perhaps – ”</p>
<p>Qrow immediately slipped his hands into Ozpin’s pants, roving over the parts he could reach. Ozpin laughed, wriggling against the touches.</p>
<p>“Let me – ” Ozpin tried to stand, Qrow taking immediate advantage and pulling Ozpin’s pants and boxers down, both laughing.</p>
<p>“You have a bedroom, I presume?” Ozpin teased.</p>
<p>“Sure,” Qrow said. “But we’re here now.”</p>
<p>“And what about your family? I think they would prefer a different location,” Ozpin said, eyes closing as Qrow rose slowly, dragging his hands over exposed skin, settling on Ozpin’s rear, squeezing the flesh there.</p>
<p>“God, you have a hell of an ass,” Qrow groaned. “All right, bedroom. Now.”</p>
<p>“Who is impatient?” Ozpin said, letting Qrow pull him from the kitchen. Qrow merely growled, tugging on his arm more, Ozpin laughing, trying to hold up what little clothing he still wore, giddy with the feeling of wanting and being wanted.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Qrow opened the door to his bedroom blindly, the trek down the hall taking longer for the unabashed groping, the endless kisses, the obvious struggle Ozpin had in holding onto his clothes. He wasn’t worried about getting Oz up again; Oz was interested enough, pushing Qrow against the wall with enough force to shake the picture frames, his hands lifting Qrow’s shirt and sliding beneath, spread fingers reaching to touch everything he could. It was hot, his neediness and his confidence, Qrow’s past sins forgiven more easily with more exposed skin. They tumbled onto the bed gracelessly, limbs entangled, Oz letting Qrow’s shirt go to clasp his face with both hands, sliding his tongue between Qrow’s lips.<p>
  <em>Oh, fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin tasted like chocolate, chili, a bit like his own release, and it drove Qrow mad, the shamelessness of it, how quickly Oz abandoned propriety and politeness for filth, sitting upright long enough to shed his open shirt, Qrow’s eyes drinking in the flesh, hands reaching to touch without thinking.</p>
<p>“I will need to prep,” Oz murmured, as Qrow pulled him back down, trailing kisses along his lips, his neck, his throat. “I am…out of practice.”</p>
<p>“I can help,” Qrow said. His voice was hoarse with the raging pressure of his cock, made worse with every piece of clothing Ozpin took off. </p>
<p>“One moment,” Ozpin whispered, the words hot on Qrow’s lips. He slipped from the bed, pulling his pants back up to his hips. “Where is your bathroom?”</p>
<p>“First door on the left.” Qrow watched him go, collapsing on his back with a soft groan. Ozpin was incredibly sexy and he knew it, driving Qrow wild with anticipation, with the strength of mutual attraction. Qrow slipped his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside, unbuttoning his pants as he waited. He debated waiting for Oz to return so he could tease him with a strip show, but Qrow’s groin ached too much, and he kicked off his pants and boxers impatiently.</p>
<p>Oz returned, pausing in the doorway, an eyebrow raising at Qrow lying on his back, on display. Ozpin’s eyes took him in quickly, and then again, more slowly, cheeks pink, lips curling into a smile.</p>
<p>“Seven inches?” he teased quietly, closing the door behind him. </p>
<p>“Why don’t you come over here and measure?” Qrow countered. “Put that tie on the door.”</p>
<p>Ozpin paused to slip a red tie on the front of the door, locking it behind him as he hummed, slipping from his pants, a trail of clothing as he made his way to the bed again. <em>Fuck</em> he was gorgeous, thick in all the right places. “You will have to be gentle,” he said, with a knowing smile. “At first.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuckin’ fuck, Oz - </em>
</p>
<p>Qrow pulled him down, lips meeting again. “Let me help,” he said, and flipped Ozpin on his back. Oz laughed, letting Qrow trail kisses down his torso, lapping and nipping at nipples, listening to the catches of Oz’s breath, the growing beat of his heart. He reached Oz’s thighs and kissed them each, followed by a brief bite that caused Ozpin to suck in a sharp breath.</p>
<p>“Leaving marks?” he murmured.</p>
<p>“Would you like me to?”</p>
<p>“Please. I like a man who is hungry.”</p>
<p>Qrow almost groaned, sucking on the flesh of Oz’s thigh until the skin grew red, switching from spot to spot until Ozpin was panting from the sensations, legs littered with color. He wasn’t entirely hard again but Qrow wasn’t finished, inching his rough kisses downward. When he penetrated Oz with his tongue Ozpin arched dramatically, a moan like a purr escaping him.</p>
<p>“Oh, good lord,” he murmured breathlessly. “Yes, that will help.”</p>
<p>Qrow didn’t need to be told twice, slipping his tongue in and out, one hand snaking up to grip Oz, to gently rouse the blood there. And Oz was <em>expressive,</em> panting and moaning and whispering praise in French, hands gripping at the sheets. Qrow paused only to dig around on his nightstand for his bottle of lube (last used after their first date and how fucking <em>ruined</em> Ozpin had looked after their kiss). A dab on his fingers and one slipped in, Oz letting out a long, pleased sigh. Qrow could have listened to him sigh and pant all night if his cock wasn’t screaming at him so loudly, and so he went to work, probing Oz open, a second finger added (Oz humming like a man in bliss) to scissor him gently open.</p>
<p>“Now,” Ozpin said, after a moment. “I know you are waiting.”</p>
<p>“You sure?” Qrow said, even as he scrambled to his knees.</p>
<p>“Please,” Oz said, meeting his eyes. “I would like you inside of me.”</p>
<p><em>“Fuck,”</em> Qrow hissed, his cock twitching. Oz laughed quietly, reaching to grasp Qrow’s hips as he positioned himself between Oz’s thighs. He pushed in slowly, watching the reactions flit across Oz’s face, eyebrows knitting with the pressure and then with the pleasure, another long sigh as Qrow inched his way fully in. Oz was tight and hot and wet and probably the closest Qrow could get to heaven itself, his blood catching fire.</p>
<p><em>“Mon Dieu,”</em> he whispered, fingers digging into Qrow’s hips. “Are you in? I do not think I can fit more.”</p>
<p>“All the way,” Qrow said, flexing his hips and watching Ozpin’s back arch gently. “Fuck, Oz. You feel so good.”</p>
<p>Ozpin clenched around him and Qrow groaned.</p>
<p>“You little tease,” he panted. “If you want me to be gentle, you better go easy on me.”</p>
<p>“Only until I am used to you,” Oz murmured, rolling his hips lightly, eyes closed with the pleasure of it. “Then you may do whatever you want to me.”</p>
<p>“Fuuuuuck,” Qrow groaned. The permission was stupidly hot, the idea of pounding into Ozpin until he was sobbing with pleasure –</p>
<p>Qrow eased out, cursing at how fucking <em>good</em> it felt, and then gave a soft thrust, Oz giving an appreciative moan. His noises were sexy as fuck, like he couldn’t hold them in because Qrow felt so good. Another small thrust, in and out, gently, feeling Oz’s hips move in time. He was hard again, cock pink and sexy and when Qrow grabbed it Ozpin spluttered an incoherent phrase in French, hands flailing to grasp at Qrow. Qrow leaned over, on top of Oz now, rolling his hips a little faster, feeling Ozpin rut against his abdomen. He was getting desperate again, hands scratching and gripping at Qrow’s back and shoulders, eyes heavy with pleasure, mouth open in a small O, a soft <em>oh oh oh</em> every time Qrow thrust into him –</p>
<p>“Do it,” Oz murmured into his ear. “Go on.” He sucked on the lobe and Qrow’s pace faltered at the desire that built. He heaved himself up again, seizing Oz by the hips and slamming in –</p>
<p>“Ah!” Oz arched off the bed, Qrow using it as leverage to pull him closer, to keep up a faster, harder pace, skin slapping against skin audibly now. Ozpin’s moans were choked off as he struggled to breathe, to thrash his hands in the sheets.</p>
<p>“Qrow – oh, <em>mon Dieu, mon Dieu – ”</em></p>
<p>But his hips matched Qrow’s pace and so Qrow knew to keep it up, sweat building on his brow, Oz’s tightness like a drug. A frantic few thrusts and Qrow slowed at last, easing Ozpin back down, carefully pulling out.</p>
<p>Ozpin was already a mess, sweat-damp silver hair, eyes dilated, waiting for Qrow to continue.</p>
<p>“What’s your favorite position?” Qrow whispered, leaning down to kiss him.</p>
<p>Oz hummed into his mouth. “Lie back and I can show you.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuckin’ hell - </em>
</p>
<p>Qrow obeyed, flopping on the pillow beside Oz, watching as he sat up and straddled Qrow’s hips. He took a moment to catch his breath, leaning back and taking Qrow’s cock in hand. A leisurely pump that made Qrow’s toes curl and then Oz eased down, impaling himself on top of him.</p>
<p>Qrow bit back another groan, gripping Oz’s thighs as he began to ride him – slowly at first, the pace growing quickly, hips gyrating in a way that would make strippers jealous. And <em>fuck</em> did Oz enjoy it, head titled back, throat on display, lips parted as though moans and curses threatened to escape. Qrow reached to wrap his hand around Ozpin’s cock, feeling the shudder than ran through him, the hitched breath and French approvals. Qrow resisted the urge to thrust up despite the fire in his gut, letting his head fall back, trailing a finger over the tip of Oz’s cock just to hear him moan again.</p>
<p>“God, you’re fucking sexy,” he muttered.</p>
<p>Ozpin opened his eyes, glancing down with an expression like a smug cat. “I would say the same of you,” he said, his voice hoarse, “but you have already proved it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Qrow said, struggling to speak when Oz rolled his hips, up and down, Qrow’s body on fire. “Because I can get you up so easy?”</p>
<p>Oz hummed, wriggling his hips <em>unfairly,</em> dragging a moan from Qrow, fingers digging into Ozpin’s flesh. </p>
<p>“Are you suggesting I am a slut for you?” Oz murmured, and Qrow almost came immediately. Oz talking dirty had some kind of effect, a quiet kind of taboo.</p>
<p>“Sure looks like it from here,” Qrow said through gritted teeth. “Fuck, Oz, if you talk like that, you’re gonna make me cum too soon.”</p>
<p>The smug smile was back, Ozpin panting as he rolled his hips once more, as if he wanted to test it himself.</p>
<p>“Oz, I swear – ”</p>
<p>The protest was cut short by a sound that made Qrow freeze – the shrill sound of a child’s voice. </p>
<p>Qrow craned his head to glance at the clock radio by his bed, gripping Ozpin’s thighs tight enough to make him pause.</p>
<p>Just after ten. Late enough that Tai and the girls might be home.</p>
<p>Qrow put a finger to his lips and Ozpin gave a brief nod, the two of them falling perfectly silent. Qrow could hear their conversation from the kitchen, the girls discussing the show they had seen and Tai trying to wrangle them for bed. Oz remained still, head titled toward the voices, Qrow’s cock twitching inside.</p>
<p>“Maybe we should stop until they’re in bed,” Qrow whispered.</p>
<p>Above, Oz raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>And rolled his hips.</p>
<p>Qrow bit his lips to hold back the moan, the impatient pleasure in the body that didn’t understand anything at the moment but release.</p>
<p><em>“Oz,”</em> he hissed, but Oz merely smiled, innocent if not for the cock in his ass.</p>
<p>But two could play that game.</p>
<p>Qrow thrust up without warning, Ozpin’s eyes going wide, doubling over with a hand at his mouth. Qrow could feel him tremble around him, shaking with unspoken pleasure.</p>
<p>“Truce?” Qrow whispered, and Oz nodded, slowly lifting himself from Qrow, wincing slightly when free.</p>
<p>“How long will we have to wait?” Ozpin whispered, lying beside Qrow, hands already reaching to touch Qrow’s chest, trailing the muscles.</p>
<p>“Too fuckin’ long,” Qrow groaned, listening as the girls made their way to the bathroom to brush their teeth. “And we gotta be quiet even after they’re in bed.”</p>
<p>Ozpin considered this. “Perhaps a gag,” he said.</p>
<p>Qrow looked at him incredulously. “You’re kinky as hell, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Oz chuckled silently. “Unless you wish to wait…” His hand moved downward, gripping Qrow gently, and Qrow melted, falling against the pillows.</p>
<p>“I’m willing to listen to ideas,” he managed, suppressing a groan at the way Oz’s hands moved up and down his cock.</p>
<p>Oz smiled, sitting up and climbing onto his knees, taking his glasses off and placing them on the side table. “Behind me,” he whispered. “And if I make too much noise, push me into the pillow.”</p>
<p>
  <em>He wants me to fuck him so bad he almost doesn’t care who hears him.</em>
</p>
<p>The thought was impossibly fucking <em>hot.</em></p>
<p>Qrow scrambled up, grabbing Oz’s hips and letting himself take in every bit of the view. Ozpin’s ass was perfection, full and rounded and attached to hips that had no business moving the way they did. He grasped each cheek with a hand, feeling Oz shiver in anticipation. He dipped his head down to run his tongue from Oz’s cock to his ass, listening to the muffled moan that followed. Qrow paused, but the conversation in the bathroom didn’t change.</p>
<p>
  <em>We might actually get away with this.</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow pushed in gently, Ozpin clenching at the pillows with lips pressed together. But he was silent, bracing his thighs to position his ass higher, Qrow gripping him tightly with the intensity of the pleasure of being inside him.</p>
<p>“Can you handle this?” he whispered, and Oz nodded, nudging his hips to reinforce the point. “Then don’t complain if that changes.”</p>
<p>Oz shook as if with laughter, wriggling his hips aggressively. Qrow growled under his breath, slamming into Ozpin as hard as he could without the loud slap of skin; Ozpin immediately buckled, his face hitting the pillow, a desperate moan buried there. And still his hips rolled with Qrow’s thrusts, still he seemed to want everything Qrow could offer. Qrow inched as close as possible, his pace frantic, draping himself over Oz’s back to reach below –</p>
<p>Ozpin let out another muffled groan when Qrow’s hand closed around his cock, legs trembling, a series of soft whines barely audible as Qrow pounded into him as quietly as he could, fingers playing up and down Oz’s cock in time. He tightened around Qrow – definitely close, his whines turning deep and desperate, Qrow panting to keep up the pace, his body screaming for release.</p>
<p>Oz came first, arching upward against Qrow, legs shaking so much that Qrow felt them both drop several inches, Qrow’s hips chaotic now, wanting nothing more than to let it all out, inside Ozpin, the thought alone enough to –</p>
<p><em>“Fuck,</em> Oz – ”</p>
<p>He clenched his hands into fists, nails scratching lines into Oz’s hips and ass, Ozpin rolling against him as if to milk Qrow dry, to feel him shutter with pleasure, Qrow stifling the moan of delicious release, shivering against Oz’s back. Slowly, the fever faded, fatigue and relief settling in – Oz seemed to feel the same, collapsing on the bed heavily, body still twitching beneath Qrow.</p>
<p>Qrow chuckled quietly, straining to rise on his palms, to eventually ease himself out. “You enjoyed yourself,” he teased.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Ozpin said. “I think we both did.” He shot Qrow a critical glance over his shoulder. “Are you going to stay inside me all night?”</p>
<p>“Is that an offer?”</p>
<p>Ozpin made a face as if seriously considering it.</p>
<p>“This is my new favorite place to be,” Qrow said, leaning over to kiss the back of Ozpin’s neck. “Inside of you.”</p>
<p>“Flatterer,” Ozpin whispered, but his eyes closed at the touch of Qrow’s lips, sighing contentedly. “Do go on.”</p>
<p>Qrow laughed softly. “If you have the stamina to go again, I won’t say no. But I’m gonna need five, maybe a Gatorade…”</p>
<p>Oz hummed sharply when Qrow finally pulled out. “Perhaps some time to clean up,” he murmured, not moving from his pillow.</p>
<p>“Gatorade and wet wipes,” Qrow said, slipping from the bed. “Got it.”</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled. “Oh, and Qrow?”</p>
<p>Qrow slipped on a bathrobe, glancing back. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>Ozpin met his eyes evenly. “Bring the chocolate.”</p>
<p>Qrow stared, nodding blankly as he opened the door and sneaked into the dark, silent house. Somehow, with all his shit luck in the world, he had managed to bag the perfect man.</p>
<p>Maybe tomorrow he’d wake up and all this would be the perfect dream. But in the meantime, Qrow wasn’t about to waste it, and he hurried to the kitchen, prepared to chug Gatorade to keep the dream going all night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We'll be taking a week off from this fic to catch up on editing and to allow my partner to recover from a minor illness. Thank you all for reading! </p>
<p>- Clocks</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Taiyang discovers who Qrow has been dating; Ozpin plots revenge with Glynda and Oscar.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taiyang yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen, flipping the lights to aid the slowly rising sun. He usually slept in until eight or nine, leaving the morning prep work to Qrow along with getting the girls dressed and fed for school.</p>
<p>“Let me have this one day,” Qrow had pleaded the day before. “Just one day. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life.”</p>
<p>Qrow must <em>really</em> like this guy.</p>
<p>And so Tai put on the coffee, yawned again, and tried not to flinch at the number of dishes and pans in the sink.</p>
<p>
  <em>He can start making it up by cleaning the kitchen top to bottom.</em>
</p>
<p>Still, Tai thought as he pulled produce from the fridge, he wondered how this all-important date with the mystery man went. There was no unfamiliar car outside, so he must have left before Tai and the girls arrived back from Disney on Ice at ten, Qrow’s bedroom door closed, the room quiet.</p>
<p>Sure, a red tie hung from the doorknob, but all that meant was to leave Qrow alone. He hadn’t had anyone over in ages.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe it didn’t go well.</em>
</p>
<p>Tai glanced around at the dishes, the food-crusted pans on the stovetop.</p>
<p>He could do the dishes. Just this once, to ease a possible broken heart.</p>
<p>The next hour was spent in a battle between the girls’ complaints about their clothes and their breakfast, Tai attempting to process produce for the day in every free second, wrangling Ruby and Yang to the door just before the bus closed its doors, Tai dragging them toward it and offering repeated apologies and thanks to the driver, who by now simply waved it off, looking exasperated. </p>
<p>He returned to the disaster of a kitchen and let out a long sigh, collapsing against the counter.</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t envy Qrow doing this every day.</em>
</p>
<p>Speaking of Qrow –</p>
<p>Tai heard his bedroom door open, craning his neck as though he could see beyond the turn of the hallway. He waited a moment but Qrow didn’t appear, and so, with another sigh, Tai pushed himself off the counter to hunt his brother down himself.</p>
<p>Qrow’s door was ajar, the tie swinging gently. Taiyang popped his head in, raising an eyebrow at the lump under the blankets.</p>
<p>One lump.</p>
<p>
  <em>So it didn’t go as well as Qrow had hoped.</em>
</p>
<p>Tai thought about bringing Qrow a cup of spiked coffee to ease him into the morning. </p>
<p>The lump shifted and Tai chuckled to himself, padding across the carpet. Best to offer his condolences now, followed by a strong drink and a sympathetic ear – if Qrow’s morning bitch face didn’t scare him off.</p>
<p>“Rise and shine,” Tai said – or began to say, the words dying on his lips as he registered the face nestled within the blankets.</p>
<p>A face under a shock of silver hair.</p>
<p>Tai froze for an instant, panic setting in long enough for his feet to back on their own.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Not Qrow. Definitely not Qrow.</em>
</p>
<p>The man stirred, muttering something under his breath that either was too muddled to make out, or –</p>
<p>
  <em>Was that French?</em>
</p>
<p>Tai froze anew, a fresh horror washing over him, as he realized he recognized the strange face in his brother’s bed. Carefully, gently, his breath stoppered in his lungs, Tai crept forward once more.</p>
<p>He was suddenly very, <em>very</em> sure he knew this man.</p>
<p>He peered forward when he didn’t trust himself to get closer, squinting at the silver hair, the soft features, the French –</p>
<p>
  <em>Ozpin Pine?</em>
</p>
<p>Tai stared, forgetting to breathe.</p>
<p>
  <em>No way.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ozpin Pine. The Ozpin Pine.</em>
</p>
<p>In his brother’s bed.</p>
<p>The sound of the toilet flushing shocked him out of his trance, Tai cursing under his breath as he flailed silently backward, praying to escape before –</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing?” a voice whispered.</p>
<p>Qrow stood in the doorway, clad only in a pair of red boxers; Tai regarded Qrow’s expression with a flinch.</p>
<p>“Sorry!” he whispered back. “I thought it was you!”</p>
<p>“I leave for three seconds to take a piss and you creep in here?” Qrow hissed, running a hand through his bedhead. “Jesus, Tai!”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry!” he said again, flailing his hands uselessly. “I thought – is that…is that Ozpin Pine? Are you – are you <em>dating – ”</em></p>
<p>“For <em>fuck’s</em> sake – ” Qrow grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the bedroom, releasing him to point a finger in Tai’s face. “Out!”</p>
<p>So saying, Qrow marched back inside, closing the door as firmly as he could without slamming it shut.</p>
<p>Tai stared at the door for another moment, registering the tie again, the meaning it once had in college, thinking, violently, what that meant with Ozpin Pine in Qrow’s bed.</p>
<p>“This can’t be happening,” he whispered to himself.</p>
<p>The next hour was a daze, Tai returning to the kitchen without realizing, hands moving to chop vegetables in stunned silence.</p>
<p>
  <em>Never meet your heroes.</em>
</p>
<p>That was the saying, wasn’t it? Ozpin Pine, classically trained French chef, author of cooking books that taught Tai almost everything he knew, host and guest of dozens of cooking shows, restaurateur who rivaled the celebrity status of most movie stars.</p>
<p>Sleeping in Qrow’s bed.</p>
<p>Tai groaned, rubbing his eyes to blur the image from his mind, swearing a moment later when the sting of jalapeno bit at them.</p>
<p>He spent the next fifteen minutes rinsing his face in the sink, cursing himself for an idiot and Qrow for –</p>
<p>Something. But whatever it was, it was something <em>big.</em></p>
<p>The prodigal brother himself appeared after that, gentlemanly enough to have pulled a black tank on over his boxers, raising an eyebrow at Taiyang’s damp hair as he aggressively chopped onions.</p>
<p>“So,” Qrow said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter, eyebrow still up. “What the hell was that?”</p>
<p>“A simple mistake,” Tai said, his knife hitting the cutting board too hard, the vibration shooting up his arm. “I heard the door open and went to say good morning.”</p>
<p>Qrow pinched his lips together.</p>
<p>
  <em>How pissed is he?</em>
</p>
<p>Then he laughed. A lot. Taiyang vacillated between relief and wanting to punch him in the face.</p>
<p>“So,” Qrow snickered. “That wasn’t me.”</p>
<p>“No shit, Qrow!” Tai said, too exasperated to trust his hand. He put down the knife and glared. “Why the <em>fuck</em> didn’t you tell me who you were dating?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s none of your business until I decide it is. We’ve only been out a few times, Tai.”</p>
<p>“But – but – it’s <em>Ozpin Pine – ”</em></p>
<p>“That’s what he said his name was.”</p>
<p>“How is this <em>not</em> a big deal?”</p>
<p>“Why, he famous or something?” Qrow wore a shit-eating grin now, enjoying Tai’s horror like the bastard he was.</p>
<p>Taiyang looked at him, aghast. “Qrow, he’s been on the cover of like…every cooking magazine known to man.”</p>
<p>
  <em>He met Ozpin Pine and doesn’t even know who he is?</em>
</p>
<p>Life wasn’t <em>this</em> cruel.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m not gonna call that famous.”</p>
<p>“He’s been on every cooking show – I watched his series on basic French cooking fifty times in college!”</p>
<p>“While I was out getting laid,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes. “But I guess that explains why he was hesitant to give me his name. Seemed kinda relieved after, I guess because I didn’t know.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I can imagine.” Tai sighed, mildly shell-shocked. </p>
<p>“He told me over text, before our first date. I knew by then, ‘cause I listened to your dumbass advice and Googled him. But…I mean.” Qrow shrugged. “Doesn’t change how I feel about him.”</p>
<p>“That…is very mature of you.”</p>
<p>“Don’t sound so surprised.”</p>
<p>Tai gave Qrow a sideways glance. “He didn’t…”</p>
<p>“Didn’t what?”</p>
<p>“I mean…you didn’t…” Tai coughed, feeling the blush creep up.</p>
<p>Qrow laughed, the coffee in his mug sloshing dangerously. “You afraid that you’ll lose respect for your hero if I fuck him?”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Taiyang said stiffly. “It’s just…he has taste in everything else.”</p>
<p>Qrow elbowed Tai in the gut.</p>
<p>“Ow! Asshole. I was kidding – I mean, I knew he was divorced, but I never really thought he was…you know. Into guys.”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding?” Qrow laughed. “He’s so gay he blinded my gaydar.”</p>
<p>“Wait – can I meet him?” Tai asked, the hope bubbling up in his chest.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna freak him out. If he’s famous and likes me for not knowing who he is, you’re gonna make him run for the hills.”</p>
<p>Tai pouted. “I’ll…stay calm.”</p>
<p>“The fuck you will. Anyway, he might not get up before you take off. He works evenings, so he’s not exactly a morning person, if I’m readin’ things right.”</p>
<p>Tai’s pout deepened. “You could bring him coffee…”</p>
<p>“Tai, I already <em>woke him up,</em> if you know what I mean. If that won’t do it, I doubt coffee – ”</p>
<p>“Jesus, all right!” Tai said, putting his hands over his ears. “God, you’re the worst.”</p>
<p>“But the best at being it,” Qrow said, with a grin and a wink.</p>
<p>Tai sighed. “Just don’t fuck this up too much,” he said. “I want to meet him before you chase him off.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off. Things went great.” Qrow <em>did</em> seem inordinately pleased, crossing his arms and smiling into his coffee with a degree of sentimentality that Tai simply didn’t trust.</p>
<p>
  <em>Big words from someone who writes – </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>Tai stared, mouth dropping open. “Wait, you wrote a review of his place? Christ, Qrow, the shit you said about his food – ”</p>
<p>“Calm down,” Qrow broke in. “Already handled. Confessed my sins. Told him everything.”</p>
<p>“And he…forgave you?”</p>
<p>“After I explained everything about the girls and told him none of it was true. Took a few apologies. A few drinks. Some ass-kissing.” A smirk grew over his face, the kind that Tai distrusted the most out of all Qrow’s expressions. “Even got on my knees and b – ”</p>
<p>“QROW – ”</p>
<p>The toilet flushing cut off the impending argument, Taiyang shutting his mouth instantly.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit.</em>
</p>
<p>Was he actually ready to meet Ozpin Pine? He flailed, Qrow laughing at him as he glanced around the still-messy kitchen, the dishes in the sink, the girls’ plates still on the table – </p>
<p><em>“Mon poussin,</em> pleeease tell me there is coffee,” came the weary, accented voice from the hall. “Mornings are bad enough, but after everything you did to me last night it is a miracle that I can walk at a – ”</p>
<p>Ozpin appeared at the end of the hall, clad in one of Qrow’s old red robes, silver hair askew, glasses lopsided as he rubbed tired eyes. When they fell into place, Ozpin froze, cutting himself off, noticing Tai’s presence with an instant blush and a very nervous laugh.</p>
<p>“Mornin’, Oz,” Qrow drawled, clearly enjoying the embarrassment from the other two men in the room. </p>
<p>Tai wished he could sink into the floor.</p>
<p>Ozpin gave another nervous laugh, padding toward the kitchen in Qrow’s slippers. “You told me everyone had gone,” he chided, hitting him playfully on the arm.</p>
<p>“I said the girls were.”</p>
<p>“You’re awful,” Ozpin said, the color very obvious on pale skin. “Pour me some coffee and introduce me properly, please. You know how I take it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, I know how you take – ”</p>
<p><em>“Qrow!”</em> Tai and Ozpin objected simultaneously, both turning pink and avoiding the others’ eyes.</p>
<p>The grin never left Qrow’s face. “Oz, my brother Taiyang. Tai, you know who Oz is.”</p>
<p>“Jesus,” Tai said, when Ozpin offered a hand. He shook the shock from his system – or tried to. “I mean, not that you’re Jesus, just that – yeah, I know who you are – ”</p>
<p>“Tai’s your biggest fan,” Qrow said, grinning at the glare Tai shot him.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Ozpin said. He cleared his throat. “Well, all the more embarrassing.”</p>
<p>“Nah, he’ll get over it,” Qrow said, handing Ozpin a mug. “You’re human enough and you work too hard. Tai can let you relax.”</p>
<p>Tai opened his mouth.</p>
<p>“Can’t you, Tai,” Qrow said, a statement rather than a question, eyes daring him to say anything wrong.</p>
<p>“He’s afraid I’ll embarrass him,” Taiyang told Ozpin. “You know, if I get too fanboy on you.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Ozpin said, sipping from a blue ceramic mug that stated <em>World’s Best Dad.</em> “I think he has earned that much, do you not?”</p>
<p>Qrow squinted at the two of them, clearly not enjoying the sudden comradery against him. </p>
<p>Tai, however, grinned widely. “Yeah, I admit I’m a fan. A big fan. You…were a huge influence on me when I was in college learning to cook. I bet you hear that all the time.”</p>
<p>Ozpin gave a shrug somehow elegant even in Qrow’s old bathrobe. “I can afford to hear it once more,” he said airily.</p>
<p>“Come on, Tai, his ego is big enough,” Qrow said dryly.</p>
<p>“Hmm, you were not complaining about size last night, <em>mon poussin,”</em> Ozpin said, and smiled like a pleased cat when both Qrow and Tai coughed into their coffee. </p>
<p>“So!” Ozpin said to Tai, as though he had <em>not</em> just made an off-color joke about fucking his brother. “I am glad to hear you appreciate my work! I take it very seriously – too seriously, perhaps, and so I have decided to forgive Qrow for his transgressions. I think…I think we both learned a lesson in judging by appearances, <em>non?”</em></p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure I judged your appearance just right,” Qrow murmured, just loud enough for Tai to hear and wish he hadn’t.</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled quietly, the pink returning to his cheeks.</p>
<p><em>He really does like Qrow,</em> Tai thought, half-marveled by the idea of it.</p>
<p>“Qrow tells me you have a food truck,” Ozpin said. “And if his cooking is as good as yours, I look forward to stopping by.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh shit. Ozpin Pine, eating my food.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait - </em>
</p>
<p>“You <em>cooked</em> for him?” Tai asked Qrow, aghast.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and he’s still alive, so the eggs must have still been good.”</p>
<p>“But – Qrow he’s – I mean he’s got <em>stars</em> and – “ </p>
<p>“I saw many last night,” Ozpin murmured to Qrow quietly, but unfortunately loud enough for Tai to hear.</p>
<p>“Damn right,” Qrow grinned. “And there’s plenty more where that came from after I brush my teeth. Be right back.”</p>
<p>“Gross,” Tai muttered, unable to restrain himself. He waited for his brother to leave the room before relaxing his scrunched features back to that of pure awe – after all, Ozpin friggin’ Pine was in <em>his kitchen.</em> Tai watched him lean against the counter, eyes watching Qrow walk away (Tai tried very hard not to think about exactly where his gaze landed), humming as he sipped his coffee.</p>
<p>“You really like him, don’t you? I mean…the things he said…you forgave him.”</p>
<p>Tai had read the blog; it was a miracle he hadn’t found Qrow murdered in the kitchen last night.</p>
<p>Ozpin’s eyes drifted back to Taiyang, face completely content. It was surreal, the face of a celebrity looking at him, wearing his brother’s bathroom and drinking their coffee as though this was perfectly normal.</p>
<p>“Mmmm. I enjoy him finding new ways to make it up to me.”</p>
<p>“So you’re going to make him grovel still.”</p>
<p><em>“Oui.</em> He likes the excuse too.” </p>
<p>Tai shifted uncomfortably, trying not to think about it too hard.</p>
<p>“The true question is whether others will forgive him,” Ozpin added.</p>
<p>“Others?” Taiyang said, feeling the horror of the remark sink in. “You’re going to out him?”</p>
<p>Ozpin shrugged. “Only amongst my colleagues – close friends, really. Five in total, including myself. My pâtissier calls it ‘The Whiney Chef’s Club.’”</p>
<p>“It’s a wine club…for chefs?”</p>
<p>Ozpin laughed. “To an effect, I suppose we are. We sit, we drink wine, and we commiserate our trials and tribulations – although, none will be as grandiose as the delicious revelation of <em>mon poussin.”</em> His smirk held a hint of sadism, Tai thought, as he sipped his coffee.</p>
<p>“Oh god,” Tai muttered. “He hit them too, didn’t he? Your friends?”</p>
<p><em>“Oui.”</em> Ozpin sounded delighted by the fact. “If you are as talented as he in the kitchen, I could introduce you sometime, provided you do not – what is the saying? ‘Spill the beans?’ Although why one would want to spill beans – “</p>
<p>Tai debated internally. A personal invitation to be part of Ozpin Pine’s chef friend circle? It was a dream come true - too good to be true given what Qrow had done, but he couldn’t even think of refusing. </p>
<p>“You mean it? I - I mean, would you tell them I was in on it – “</p>
<p>“Were you?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely not. I was against it from the start…but the money…”</p>
<p>“Understandable. Then <em>non,</em> I have no reason to mention it.”</p>
<p>“What did I miss?” Qrow sauntered back into the hall, hair obviously coifed to impress – not that he would admit that he probably spent ten minutes getting it just right.</p>
<p>“Nothing, <em>mon poussinette,</em> nothing at all.” Ozpin wrapped his hands around Qrow’s waist, leaning in slightly. “Is that cologne? You smell divine…” </p>
<p>A ploy, Tai could tell, to distract Qrow from the conversation Tai and Ozpin had shared, but one that worked, Qrow smug as Ozpin pressed a kiss to his throat.</p>
<p>“No, but if you’re impressed by that – “</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t know how much more of this I can stomach.</em>
</p>
<p>“I have to get in the shower before I leave for the lunch rush,” Tai announced loudly, earning their attention (Qrow’s glare less than happy for the interruption). “Qrow, can you please get the rest of the produce prepped?”</p>
<p>“Tai – “</p>
<p>“We would love to help,” Ozpin interjected, when Qrow looked displeased. “Please, do what you need to, Taiyang.” He murmured into Qrow’s ear; Tai could only presume what was bribed, but Qrow lit up, suddenly amenable to the idea.</p>
<p>“Sure, Tai. We’ll help,” he said, the subtext obvious.</p>
<p>
  <em>So you leave us alone sooner.</em>
</p>
<p>Tai sighed. “Mr. Pine, I look forward to seeing you again. Qrow, don’t chase him off, or I’ll make you a eunuch.”</p>
<p>Qrow shot him a glare that Ozpin didn’t notice, and amidst the gracious French goodbyes, Tai retreated into his bedroom, letting out a long breath at the increasingly bizarre directions his life took.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Oscar Pine sat in his uncle’s kitchen (what he had started to call “the center of the house,” because all the interesting things seemed to happen there), nursing a mineral water and listening to one of his bosses rant about the other.<p>“I can’t believe he hasn’t called me,” Glynda Goodwitch whined, clad in yoga pants and a sports bra, rummaging in the fridge like she lived there. “He tells me he has this big date, refuses to give me any details about what they’re doing, and then goes radio silent for fifteen hours?” She seized an Evian from the shelf and twisted the cap open with a loud <em>snap.</em></p>
<p>“I hope he’s dead,” she finished.</p>
<p>Oscar swallowed a snort. </p>
<p>“I heard that,” she said, but her lips twitched and she closed the fridge door, sighing. “I get it. He’s met someone for the first time in a hundred years. He’s distracted. He’s forgotten to call and give me details. He forgot about our workout session. I get it! A new boyfriend and I’m entirely forgotten.” She chugged half the water, glowering.</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s like that,” Oscar said, trying for optimism.</p>
<p>“No?” Glynda said, lifting an eyebrow. “He didn’t come home last night. What else can I think?”</p>
<p>“Er – ” Oscar stalled. He couldn’t confirm if Ozpin had come home either, but when he had asked Klein, the driver simply shook his head and laughed.</p>
<p>And there was the subject of the texts, Ozpin somehow aware Qrow was the Grim Eater but not seeming to care? All he had told Oscar was he knew, and that he was letting Qrow make it up to him. All night.</p>
<p>A detail Oscar hesitated to give Glynda when she was already in a mood.</p>
<p>“Did he call you?” Glynda asked.</p>
<p>“No,” Oscar said quickly.</p>
<p>
  <em>Not entirely a lie.</em>
</p>
<p>She made a <em>harrumph</em> noise and pouted. “I called him after every date I had with James.”</p>
<p>Ocsar bit back another smile. </p>
<p>“What’s so funny?”</p>
<p>“Ah,” he said, off-kilter for being noticed. “Nothing. It’s just…you and Uncle Ozpin are practically married. I can see why Aunt Salem didn’t like you.”</p>
<p>“She didn’t, huh?” Glynda said. “Can’t say I blame her. I’m more than man’s wife than I have any desire to be. And he <em>owes</em> me some damn details when things get hot and heavy!”</p>
<p>Oscar made a face and Glynda finally laughed. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” she said. “I bet you’re regretting moving in here.”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding?” Oscar said. “I mean…I knew Uncle Ozpin was, ah, eccentric, but – I was in a tiny apartment with one spatula and waiting tables. Now – I’m still waiting tables, sure, but I’m in this house. Cooking lessons for free, from a world expert.” He shrugged. “It’s a dream.”</p>
<p>Glynda looked skeptical.</p>
<p>“Besides,” Oscar said, “I have a family again. All families are…eccentric.”</p>
<p>Glynda softened at that, sighing again. “You really are a Pine,” she said. “More charming than you have a right to be. You’re a lot like him, you know. Yes, he plays up his ego and his accent and forgets the world doesn’t revolve around him…but he’s missed having a family. He’s too closed off. I’m glad you’re pulling him back out of it.”</p>
<p>Oscar listened in surprise. “I don’t think I’m making that much of a difference, really.”</p>
<p>“You are,” Glynda insisted. “Don’t let his flippant attitude tell you otherwise. He reached out to you. He’s spending days with you in his kitchen. He met a man buying a knife for you. You’re important to him, Oscar. No matter what Ozpin tells you, never forget that.”</p>
<p>Oscar smiled at his water bottle, feeling warm. “Thanks,” he said softly. “For what it’s worth, I hope you know you are too.”</p>
<p>Glynda regarded him for a long moment.</p>
<p>“I had better be,” she announced.</p>
<p><em>So much for sentimentality,</em> Oscar thought dryly.</p>
<p>Both of them perked up at the sound of the front door closing. Glynda shot up as though stung. </p>
<p>“The prodigal bastard,” she murmured, and stalked off to meet him. Oscar followed to the doorway of the kitchen, watching her march her way to the foyer.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ozpin Pine!”</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin turned, tie loose around his neck, coat over one arm, raising an eyebrow at Glynda, eyes dropping to study her appearance.</p>
<p>“Ah,” he said shortly. “It’s Tuesday. Right.”</p>
<p>“You forgot!”</p>
<p>“I forgot!” Ozpin said, shrugging. “I apologize. Give me a moment and I am at your mercy.”</p>
<p>“You absolutely are,” Glynda countered, following Ozpin as he made his way toward the kitchen.</p>
<p>Oscar hesitated, wondering if this was a good time to make an exit – but he was dying to know what had happened with Qrow.</p>
<p>For Ozpin to <em>really</em> be dating the Grim eater – </p>
<p>It seemed impossible.</p>
<p>“No calls? No texts? Nothing to tell me you were okay, or running late, or any gossip at all?”</p>
<p>“I am cruel,” Ozpin said lightly. “I know. But things…did not go as I planned, and I admit, narrating my date to you was not a priority.”</p>
<p>“Rude,” Glynda said.</p>
<p>“Hmmm, you will not think so when I give you the details. What were you planning for today?”</p>
<p>“A jog,” Glynda said. “But now I think I need to hit some things.”</p>
<p>“Boxing? I am not sure I am up for that today.”</p>
<p>Oscar shrank back from the doorway as they approached, still debating running off before being discovered. But he wanted to know the details just as much as Glynda, if not even more –</p>
<p>“But the punching bag is in the gym, and I can regale you as you imagine my face on it,” Ozpin chuckled. “But I have had a <em>very</em> long night, if you understand, enough exercise for – <em>ça alors!</em> Oscar!”</p>
<p>He halted in the doorway, Glynda running into him, his face instantly pink with the realization Oscar had, once more, heard too much. Oscar sighed, face hot, reminding himself that this was his family. </p>
<p>For better or worse.</p>
<p>“I am so very sorry,” Ozpin stammered to Oscar, before shooting Glynda a glare. “Why did you not tell me he was here?”</p>
<p>“You deserve some shaming,” Glynda countered.</p>
<p>“But Oscar does not!”</p>
<p>Glynda shot Oscar a grudging look. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Oscar said meekly.</p>
<p><em>“J'en ai ras le pompon,”</em> Ozpin muttered. <em>“Elle n'a aucune gratitude – ”</em></p>
<p>Glynda shot Oscar a raised eyebrow for a translation but he shook his head, hoping she would take this as a sign that it wasn’t important; he let out a long breath when she did, shrugging off another of Ozpin’s French tantrums.</p>
<p>“I can earn your forgiveness in one sentence,” Ozpin declared, looking around the kitchen. <em>“Ah, merci du fond du cœur,</em> there is coffee.”</p>
<p>“Prove it, old man.”</p>
<p>Ozpin’s eyes twinkled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, shooting a glance toward Oscar. “Would you like the honors, <em>mon cher neveu?”</em></p>
<p>Oscar blinked. <em>Me? What do I know? </em></p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, about Qrow - </em>
</p>
<p>Glynda whirled. “You <em>did</em> know something! God, you <em>are</em> a Pine and I’m sick of your entire bloodline – ”</p>
<p>“Qrow is the Grim Eater,” Oscar announced, too loudly, to stopper the lecture he knew wouldn’t end on its own.</p>
<p>Glynda paused, mouth open, her face becoming skeptical. She tensed her jaw, narrowing her eyes at Oscar, and then Ozpin. </p>
<p>Ozpin shrugged lightly, as though this was the most natural thing in the world to declare.</p>
<p>“You’re bullshitting me,” she said at last. “There is no way - <em>no way</em> - your ego would let that go. Unless you’re lying about sleeping with him.”</p>
<p>Both Oscar and Ozpin winced together.</p>
<p><em>“Mon chère, il est juste là,”</em> Ozpin said, motioning at Oscar. “He is <em>right there,”</em> he repeated in English.</p>
<p>Oscar offered Glynda a sheepish expression. “I can go – ”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Ozpin said. “We can behave, can we not?”</p>
<p>“We can,” Glynda echoed, still looking at Ozpin suspiciously. Ozpin leaned over, whispering something in her ear and she looked surprised, then vaguely impressed. Ozpin pulled away, smiling smugly into his mug.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised you can walk,” she said, and Oscar and Ozpin groaned together. </p>
<p>“What is the point in whispering if you’re going to broadcast it?” Ozpin asked, exasperated, watching Oscar cover his face in his hands.</p>
<p>But the blush wasn’t as strong as the desire to laugh aloud, at his embarrassment and Ozpin’s, and the very surreal life he found himself living.</p>
<p>At least they weren’t treating him like a kid.</p>
<p>“All right, <em>sorry,”</em> Glynda said crossly, without feeling. “Tell me how in the world you ended up dating the guy who wrote <em>that blog</em> and seem happy about it.”</p>
<p>And so Ozpin explained. Oscar had heard about the dark mystery man Ozpin met while buying Oscar a knife (an Atlas knife, worth more than all of Oscar’s few possessions – something he would put under his pillow if he didn’t think he would stab himself at night). But he hadn’t known that Qrow had no idea who Ozpin had been – and vice versa – and now Oscar and Glynda listened with rapt attention as Ozpin recounted the confession last night, timed almost exactly when Oscar had texted Ozpin, too guilty to keep silent about his suspicions. </p>
<p>“And you forgave him?” Glynda asked incredulously. “That quickly? I’m not sure I could.”</p>
<p>“How could I not!” Ozpin countered. “When he did this for his children?” He shook his head. “No, no, I – he would do anything for his family. I respect that.”</p>
<p>Oscar caught the glance from his uncle and smiled. He remembered the way Qrow had doted on the little girls with him in the restaurant, how he kept them occupied and happy while their food had delay after delay. The reason, after all, that Oscar had been reluctant to believe his suspicions about Qrow was that he was, simply, too kind to write a blog like <em>Peckish.</em></p>
<p>“And so he made it up to me,” Ozpin said, very lightly, not looking at Oscar now. “And he will continue to do so.”</p>
<p>Glynda leveled a disapproving expression at him. “You can’t seriously plan on dating this man and hold this over his head, Ozpin.”</p>
<p>But Ozpin shook his head. “No, of course not. But I can,” he added, leaning over the counter and dropping his voice conspiratorially, “have a bit of fun and perhaps earn a small revenge for the friends he wounded.”</p>
<p>Oscar met Glynda’s eyes.</p>
<p>“But I will need your help,” Ozpin said.</p>
<p>“I’m in,” Oscar said immediately, grinning.</p>
<p>
  <em>Part of being in a family is the occasional vengeance plan, isn’t it?</em>
</p>
<p>“Glynda?”</p>
<p>She gave Ozpin a withering look. “Of course,” she said sharply. “Satire or not, I still haven’t forgiven him about what he said about my poached pears.”</p>
<p>“Aha!” Ozpin exclaimed, clapping his hands together. <em>“J’ai la patate!</em> And so the pudding thickens!”</p>
<p>“Plot,” Glynda corrected automatically.</p>
<p>“Eh? Why should dirt thicken? English expressions make so little sense – ”</p>
<p>“You’ve been in this country for how many years and yet you refuse to – ”</p>
<p>Oscar listened to Ozpin and Glynda bicker, still grinning, imagining the eccentric plot Ozpin had thought up, warm to be a part of it, pleased to properly meet the man who had made Ozpin so angry and then so happy.</p>
<p>“You seem pleased about something,” Glynda broke in, when their argument began to die. She turned her stern green stare on him now, sparing Ozpin for a moment.</p>
<p>“I’m just happy to be here,” Oscar said, learning to ignore the fear her glare once instilled in him, when he was new staff at the restaurant. Here she was not his boss. Here, she was family.</p>
<p>Ozpin chuckled, giving little sigh of contentment. “As are we,” he said softly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ozpin invites Qrow to his house for a date and a dash of revenge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Qrow stood next to Taiyang in their driveway, staring at the sleek car that pulled up to their barely middle-class house. The juxtaposition was comical, the smooth lines of a vehicle Qrow knew cost more than their home, with dying grass under too many discarded plastic children’s toys – and it was here for him.</p>
<p>“Is that…a Bentley?” Tai whispered.</p>
<p>“Fuck if I know,” Qrow said. “Pretty sure we can’t even afford to Google a car like that. It’s what James Bond drives.”</p>
<p>“He drives an Aston-Martin.”</p>
<p>“Not in the books.”</p>
<p>Tai snorted. “Does Chef Pine know you’re a nerd?”</p>
<p>“Stop calling him that. He has a first name.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, if you’re dating him,” Tai muttered. “Haven’t you seen his shows? No one calls him by his name. Well, except you, I guess. The rest of us are peasants.”</p>
<p>“Now who’s the nerd?” Qrow couldn’t be sure if it was the same car that had dropped Ozpin off at the Axe and the Blunderbuss; this one was green, but so dark that it appeared black until the sunlight caught the angles just right. The driver got out and circled the car, opening the back door and motioning toward it with a gentle smile.</p>
<p>“Mr. Branwen?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Er – yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” Qrow hesitated, waiting to wake up from whatever too-good-to-be-true dream this was.</p>
<p>“Mr. Pine apologizes for not being able to meet with you,” the driver continued, politely not affected by Qrow’s disbelief. “He’s preparing an early dinner and wanted everything to be fresh for you.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Qrow said.</p>
<p>“If you ever break up with him,” Tai whispered, eyes wide on the car, “maybe I’ll date him.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off, he’s mine.” Qrow spoke with more confidence than he felt, mildly overwhelmed by the amount of effort Oz was putting into this date.</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s cute that he wants to impress me, but maybe I’m a lot easier to impress than I thought.</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow gave Tai a nudge goodbye, ignoring the smug “have a good time” Tai called after him, as though he had the right to be anything other than disgustingly jealous of the amazing evening Ozpin had planned for Qrow.</p>
<p>Qrow slipped into the seat offered by the driver, settling in and casting a quick glance at the black and cream interior, as spotless as a car still on the lot. It even still smelled like one, fresh leather and furniture polish, the chrome accents untouched by human hands. He buckled his seat belt slowly, studying the sort of lifestyle his new boyfriend was used to.</p>
<p>
  <em>I could get used to this too.</em>
</p>
<p>“First time, sir?” the driver asked, as he turned the car on.</p>
<p>“First time?” Qrow repeated, catching the driver’s amused expression in the rearview mirror.</p>
<p>“In a Bentley Mulsanne.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Qrow had never even heard of the model before, but then again, Bentley was the kind of car super spies drove, not peasants like him and Tai. “Yeah. First time.”</p>
<p>“How do you find it?”</p>
<p>“Well, to be honest – sorry, I didn’t get your name.”</p>
<p>“Klein, sir.”</p>
<p>“Call me Qrow,” he said quickly, feeling the title too heavily. “I’m not…used to this kind of thing. You know, Oz’s world.”</p>
<p>Klein hummed a sympathetic note.</p>
<p>“It’s…nice,” Qrow said, wincing at his inability to form words to explain exactly how it felt to have a private driver taking him to a celebrity’s house to be wined and dined and hopefully fucked within an inch of both their lives. “Just between you and me, how much do these things run?”</p>
<p>Klein gave a delicate cough. “Well, there are differences in the model types, of course…but this is a recent purchase of Mr. Pine’s, and he insisted I take it today.”</p>
<p>“Recent?” Qrow said, leaning back on the admittedly ergonomic seat, running his hands along the soft leather. “Like…he’s tryin’ to impress the pants off me with a fancy car?”</p>
<p>Klein gave another cough, a practiced act. “Mr. Pine is a generous man,” he said carefully, “especially when he doesn’t know how else to express his admiration.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s eyebrows shot up and he laughed. “You’re makin’ it sound like he bought a new car because of me.”</p>
<p>Klein closed his mouth and Qrow’s laughter died.</p>
<p>“He didn’t,” Qrow said.</p>
<p>“Mr. Pine is very adamant that you should appreciate the finer things.”</p>
<p>“Jesus,” Qrow murmured, the heaviness of the information causing him to slump.</p>
<p>“I think you could use a drink,” Klein said, his voice almost smoothing out the note of amusement. “Check the center compartment.”</p>
<p>Qrow did without thinking, pulling the leather down to reveal a mini bar – a bottle of Scotch whiskey and two glasses. Now he laughed again. “Okay, this I appreciate. How’s Oz’s taste in whiskey?”</p>
<p>“Only the best, sir.”</p>
<p>Qrow opened his mouth to correct the title but let it slide, too interested in the bottle at his knee. </p>
<p>
  <em>Macallan, single malt, twenty-five years.</em>
</p>
<p>Sure sounded expensive. He pulled the cork from the top and inhaled, eyes closing at the smoothness of it, the light smoke and other things he couldn’t place without a taste. He poured generously – Oz wanted to share, after all – and sat back, wondering if he could actually get used to being a celebrity’s boy toy.</p>
<p>“What do you think?” Klein asked, when Qrow took a sip of scotch and made an obscene noise of appreciation. </p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Qrow said. “This is almost better than sex.”</p>
<p>Klein laughed. “Mr. Pine said you enjoyed whiskey, so I made a suggestion.”</p>
<p>“It’s fucking fantastic,” Qrow said, letting the next sip play on his tongue. Smoke and dried fruit – and a hint of something like chocolate-covered oranges. “Okay, so you won’t tell me what the car is worth, but come on. I need to know how much this bottle runs.”</p>
<p>“Two,” Klein said.</p>
<p>“Two hundred ain’t bad,” Qrow said, wondering if it would be considered rude to have two drinks before he even got to Oz’s place.</p>
<p>“…two thousand, sir.”</p>
<p>Qrow choked, his throat threatening to spray the scotch across the leather interior – two things he couldn’t afford to ruin, and so he swallowed, coughing at the burn in his throat and lungs, pounding his chest to loosen the tension, eyes watering.</p>
<p>“Are you all right, sir?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Qrow croaked. “No problem.”</p>
<p>Klein chuckled, clearly accustomed to his rich boss but still able to laugh at the effect he had on normal people. </p>
<p><em>I could start a college fund with what Oz spent on this,</em> Qrow thought, wiping the tears from his eyes. And yet he drank it anyway, shrugging off the insecurities of dating someone out of his league.</p>
<p>
  <em>Out of my league? Oz isn’t even playing the same sport as me.</em>
</p>
<p>And here he was, being invited to Oz’s house like Cinderella still in rags.</p>
<p>Oz waited at the door for him, relaxed in sharply pressed slacks and an emerald green shirt, no jacket, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms. Effortlessly sexy, the sense of informality, his smile ready and willing when Qrow stepped from the car and made his way up the path to the door.</p>
<p>A mansion – there was really no other word for the massive house in front of him, all glass windows and Greek columns, marble floors and gilded mirrors. Like a Greek god built a French castle.</p>
<p>“Welcome,” Oz said, his voice quiet despite the easy smile. “I am so happy you could come.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Qrow said, flashing a crooked smirk – the one that always seemed to make Oz blush.</p>
<p>And he did, giving a soft chuckle as his cheeks bloomed pink. “Shall I give you the tour before dinner? We have time.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing. Your driver made it sound like you were cooking though.”</p>
<p>“In a manner of speaking,” Oz said, with a careless shrug. “My nephew is my current student, and so I have taught him the menu and left him to the wolves, as they say.”</p>
<p>“So we can find some little corner of the house all to ourselves?” Qrow teased.</p>
<p>“I have a bedroom,” Oz said, all dry humor, “if you wish to start there.”</p>
<p>“If you insist.”</p>
<p>“You are shameless,” Oz said, but the pink darkened, and he hesitated at the foot of the stairs, carpeted marble, before leading the way up.</p>
<p>
  <em>Bingo. Nailed it.</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow wondered exactly how long they had before dinner. He could do a lot in twenty minutes.</p>
<p>“How did you find the car? I hope you were comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Very,” Qrow said, eyes on how Oz’s ass moved with each step.</p>
<p>“And the scotch?”</p>
<p>Qrow wrenched his gaze upward, catching the tone. “Yeah, to die for.”</p>
<p>Oz’s smile was brief, as if he didn’t quite believe Qrow, and he paused at the top of the stairs. “You have something on your mind?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, look.” Qrow sighed. “I appreciate the gestures, Oz, but – ”</p>
<p>“It’s too much,” Oz finished ruefully.</p>
<p>“A little,” Qrow said. “You had to buy a new car? Was the Rolls in the shop?”</p>
<p>“No,” Ozpin said, completely missing the point. “Would that have been better? I thought – ”</p>
<p>“Oz. Jesus. I’m kidding.”</p>
<p>
  <em>He has a Rolls. Of course he does.</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow sighed, taking Oz’s hands in his. “I’m dating you, not your wallet. You don’t have to impress me or buy me.”</p>
<p>“I did not mean to imply – ” Oz sighed quietly, squeezing Qrow’s hands. “Of course I know you are not that sort of man. But I…you are funny, and clever, and so very handsome…I wonder if you would want to see me if I did not have…” He motioned briefly around the house. </p>
<p>“Oz, I gave you my number before I knew who you were.”</p>
<p>Oz let out an embarrassed laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. I…I am very nervous around you. You tell me I should not be, but…” He shrugged.</p>
<p>Fuck, the honesty was cute, the anxious pull of his hair, the avoidance of Qrow’s eyes.</p>
<p>A celebrity, nervous around Qrow.</p>
<p>No, not a celebrity – a man who liked Qrow very much, wanted to impress him, someone lonely and afraid to ruin something promising.</p>
<p>“So,” Qrow said, leaning in just enough for Oz to notice. “After last time, could you even get up the stairs, or did you have to pay someone to carry you?”</p>
<p>Oz went scarlet, stammering something before he laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. “You are – oh, you are awful,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“How awful?” Qrow said, leaning in further, enough to make Ozpin take a step backward. Qrow called the bluff, following the movement.</p>
<p>“The sort of man,” Oz murmured, as his back hit the landing wall, “who would threaten my virtue.”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure after our last date, you don’t have any virtue left,” Qrow whispered, his breath on Ozpin’s lips, eyes meeting Oz’s expectant, heavily lidded gaze.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Oz said softly. “Then I suppose there is no help for it.”</p>
<p>Qrow didn’t know who initiated; they moved together as one, lips locking – gently at first, to fall into place, and then harder. Oz’s kisses were perfect, Qrow feeling the anxiety melt away through physical touch. Hands crept around his waist, fingers splayed toward his back, Oz’s mouth moving in harmony with each press from Qrow’s lips. Qrow nipped at Ozpin’s bottom lip until he allowed Qrow’s tongue in (Ozpin <em>moaned</em> at that, so quiet that Qrow could only feel the vibration of it), Qrow’s hands already pulling Oz closer –</p>
<p>“How long before dinner?” Qrow rasped, moving his mouth to Ozpin’s ear, just to feel him shiver.</p>
<p>“Perhaps half an hour?” Oz whispered, voice strained by the lips on his throat. “Forty minutes, if we are lucky.”</p>
<p>“We will be,” Qrow growled. “Where’s the bedroom?”</p>
<p>“End of the hall. But Qrow, there isn’t much time – ”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have a problem with that last time.”</p>
<p>Oz laughed breathlessly. “Quickly then,” he said, and seized Qrow’s hand from traveling further down his back, pulling him down the hall.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“We should dress for dinner,” Oz said at last, voice languid. But he seemed content to lay there, limbs limp, eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips.<p>Qrow lay beside him, his body prone in the opposite direction, watching the slow turn of the ceiling fan over Oz’s bed. It was a beautiful room – something out of a magazine, all modern steel grays and emerald greens, a wall that was more window than not, curtains wide open to the ocean outside.</p>
<p>
  <em>Kinda kinky, doin’ it with the windows open.</em>
</p>
<p>But there was no risk from the empty ocean, a thin line where the blue of the sea met the sky.</p>
<p>“Why the hurry?” Qrow asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He sat up, leaning down to brush his lips against Oz’s.</p>
<p>“I will not be late to my nephew’s debut dinner.” But Oz accepted the kiss, their lips becoming more forceful after a moment, and finally – reluctantly – Oz broke away with a long sigh. “You taste so good,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“High praise from a chef,” Qrow grinned. “Compliments to my toothpaste.”</p>
<p>“No, I meant…” Ozpin tilted his head downward – a polite motion toward Qrow’s groin. Qrow laughed aloud.</p>
<p>“I ate like an entire pineapple last night,” he said. “Just to be sure.”</p>
<p>“You thought you could get me into bed so easily?” Oz said, in mock indignation, a hand over his heart.</p>
<p>“And it took me, what? Five minutes?” Qrow laughed when a pillow hit his face, watching Ozpin slip from the sheets with a smug smile.</p>
<p>“Hmm, and it will take longer later tonight,” Oz remarked, “and so will we.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re pretty horny, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Ozpin scoffed, turning pink again as he reached for his pants. “I am a man in my prime,” he declared haughtily. </p>
<p>“I’m not complaining,” Qrow said. “Means I don’t have to work too hard for it.”</p>
<p>The second pillow hit him in the groin, and his laugh was breathless from it.</p>
<p>“Take your time getting dressed,” Oz said, running a hand through hopelessly mussed hair. “I’ll just pop down to be sure my kitchen is not on fire.”</p>
<p>Qrow hummed, watching him sway toward the bedroom door – smug French bastard, perfectly pleased with his performance. And he had every right to be, reducing Qrow to a panting mess, Ozpin’s lips maybe even rivaling the perfection of his ass. </p>
<p>
  <em>A professional chef said I taste good. I should put that on my resume.</em>
</p>
<p>Qrow listened to Oz hum as he went downstairs, stretching his limbs and slowly sitting up, looking around for the rumpled mess of his clothes. A rich, hot, sex-starved boyfriend, and he was crazy about Qrow.</p>
<p><em>I wonder what the catch is,</em> Qrow thought, chuckling to himself as he reached lazily for his pants.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ozpin sighed, all contentment as he hit the ground floor of the house, turning down the corridor to the kitchen. Dinner smelled wonderful, the kitchen clearly not ablaze. He found Oscar at the stove, wearing Ozpin’s apron (kelly green, with white script that stated “your opinion isn’t in the recipe”). He glanced up at Ozpin with a grin.<p>“Ten minutes, chef.”</p>
<p><em>“Parfait,”</em> Ozpin said. “Have the guests arrived?”</p>
<p>“Yes, chef. Glynda took them to the dining room.”</p>
<p>“Ah, what do you even need me for?” Ozpin said lightly. “Very good, thank you, Oscar.”</p>
<p>Oscar grinned anew, all confidence. How much he had changed since moving in! All eagerness to prove himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>So very like me, so many years ago.</em>
</p>
<p>Ozpin left through the other side of the kitchen, into the dining room, a small, intimate space with enough room for a large table and bar. Dark wood walls and ceiling, illuminated by a great chandelier and the wide panoramic window that overlooked the back gardens and pool. The Whiny Chef Club was already in attendance, helping themselves to the contents of his bar, chatting happily amongst themselves.</p>
<p>“There you are!” Glynda exclaimed. “I was beginning to think we needed to send out a search party.”</p>
<p>Ozpin laughed. “I am sorry to have kept you, but I see my absence did not discourage you from drinking my good liquor.”</p>
<p>“You could hardly keep us from that!” Bart exclaimed, and Peter roared with his brand of over-laughter.</p>
<p>“So what kept you?” James asked, eyes twinkling. “Something in the kitchen, or…?”</p>
<p>“You ruined the surprise,” Ozpin accused, and Glynda simply shrugged her shoulders elegantly, sipping her wine.</p>
<p>“I had to explain what was keeping you,” she said. “I don’t think I was wrong in assuming it was the new boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Ozpin felt the burn of his cheeks, choosing to ignore it and busy himself at the bar, checking to see what bottles Glynda may have opened. “I have no idea what you mean,” he said lightly.</p>
<p>“Tell that to your hair,” Glynda said dryly.</p>
<p>Ozpin automatically lifted a hand to smooth it, shaking his head ruefully at the laughter that followed.</p>
<p>“I opened a Vouvray,” Glynda said. “I thought you might want something playful.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, so I do,” Ozpin said, pouring a too-generous glass – after all, he would have several minutes of teasing to survive.</p>
<p>“So tell us about the boyfriend!” Bart exclaimed. “None of us could believe it when Glynda told us.”</p>
<p>“Ah, well,” Ozpin said, joining them at the table. “We met by accident and it was…” The little sigh left him unthinkingly, and the others exchanged knowing glances.</p>
<p>“Ye’ve got it bad,” Peter announced, chuckling.</p>
<p>“Three dates and I’m half in love,” Ozpin said, with a light shrug. “But do not tell him that. I prefer to have the biggest ego in the room.”</p>
<p>“You, or…” James said, eyes motioning toward Glynda.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” she purred.</p>
<p>“No, dear.”</p>
<p>The others laughed.</p>
<p>“So where is he?” James asked. “This mystery man of yours?”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Ozpin cleared his throat gently. “He…needed a moment. Upstairs.”</p>
<p>“I bet ‘e did, ye dirty old man!” Port roared.</p>
<p>Ozpin was spared the embarrassment of his blush being noticed, for Oscar appeared at that moment to save him with the hors d'oeuvre, and he drank too much of his wine too quickly. But his guests seem to forget about the teasing as Oscar placed plate after plate on the table – chicken liver pâté, steak tartare, black olive tapenade, préfou with Glynda’s fresh baguettes, an elegant tray of crudités.</p>
<p>“You’ve outdone yourself, Oscar,” James remarked.</p>
<p>“Indeed!” Bart exclaimed. “Impressive, young man! Impressive!”</p>
<p>But, as Oscar bowed to their compliments, his eyes were watchful on Ozpin’s hand, studying the movement as Ozpin spread a thin layer of pâté on a toast point.</p>
<p>Silence fell, the other chefs watching now (only Glynda was unconcerned with the tension, rolling her eyes as she helped herself).</p>
<p>“Do you know,” Ozpin said, as Oscar leaned in, no doubt holding his breath for his judgment, “the best thing about food made by an excellent chef?” He paused, letting the smile grow. “It tastes even better when someone else makes it.”</p>
<p>James and Peter laughed aloud, Bart snickering.</p>
<p>“It is wonderful,” Ozpin told Oscar, as he deflated in place. <em>”Mes félicitations au chef.”</em></p>
<p>“Thank you,” Oscar said, breathless. “Dinner will be out in ten minutes, chef.”</p>
<p>“Take your time,” Ozpin said, smiling as the boy retreated quickly into the kitchen.</p>
<p>“All this at eighteen?” James remarked, helping himself to the tapenade. “Careful, old man, or he’ll soon outdo you.”</p>
<p>“Eh,” Ozpin said, waving a careless hand. “That is the point, is it not? The new generation should always outdo the older.”</p>
<p>“How selfless of you,” Glynda said dryly. “By the way, you may want to find that useless boyfriend of yours. He’s probably lost in his giant house, unless your tour involved more than just your bedroom.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” Ozpin said, with a light cough. But he rose regardless, thinking that perhaps it <em>had</em> been some time since he left Qrow, and the house was rather large –</p>
<p>He had barely left the dining room before he bumped into Qrow, the two laughing at the collision.</p>
<p>“Jesus, I was about to call your cell,” Qrow said. “This place is huge.”</p>
<p>“My apologies,” Ozpin said quickly. “I forgot that I did not show you everything.”</p>
<p>“Everything that matters,” Qrow said, with a wink that made Ozpin nervous, stomach twisting pleasantly. “So when is dinner?”</p>
<p>“Ten minutes,” Ozpin murmured, his voice dropping automatically as Qrow drew nearer. “But there are hors d'oeuvre in the dining room.”</p>
<p>“In there?” Qrow asked, eyes lifting briefly to the door. “What if I want a different kind of appetizer?”</p>
<p>“And you say I am horny,” Ozpin chided, the tease ineffective, his eyes closing as Qrow leaned in for a kiss. Ozpin could have kissed him all night, heaven in those marvelous lips and how well they felt against his, how perfectly Qrow’s arms pulled them together.</p>
<p>“You taste like wine,” Qrow whispered.</p>
<p>“You taste like – hmm.”</p>
<p>Qrow chuckled against Oz’s mouth. “You can say it.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Ozpin said, between the press of lips. “It’s impolite out of the bedroom.”</p>
<p>“So cancel dinner and we can go back – ”</p>
<p>“Oh, for goodness’ sake!”</p>
<p>Glynda’s voice broke in like a shot, Ozpin starting in Qrow’s arms. They looked at her in unison, Qrow surprised to see someone else and Ozpin having forgotten, in a few moments of bliss, that anyone else was home.</p>
<p>“You’re shameless,” she told Ozpin.</p>
<p>“We were coming,” Ozpin protested weakly.</p>
<p>“Two more minutes and I bet you would have,” Glynda said sharply.</p>
<p>“Er – this a friend of yours, Oz?” Qrow asked, hands still on Ozpin’s waist.</p>
<p>Ozpin cleared his throat. “Glynda, this is Qrow. Qrow, Glynda, my business partner.”</p>
<p>Qrow released him then, giving them both a worried glance.</p>
<p>“Don’t look so concerned,” Ozpin said, cupping Qrow’s cheek affectionately. “I invited a few friends over to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Friends, huh?”</p>
<p>“They will love you, <em>mon poussin,”</em> Ozpin murmured, offering one last chaste kiss before taking Qrow’s hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And I will get you a drink.”</p>
<p>Qrow let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, that…that’s appreciated.”</p>
<p>“By the way, your other new friend is here,” Glynda said, “and he seems terrified of us.”</p>
<p>“How many friends do you have in there?” Qrow said, looking a shade paler.</p>
<p>Glynda made an impatient <em>harrumph</em> noise, bustling back into the dining room.</p>
<p>“I invited Taiyang,” Ozpin said, brushing a strand of hair behind Qrow’s ear. “He seemed so eager to meet me, I thought you and he could meet my friends together. Do not worry, I will not throw you to the wolves.” He kissed Qrow again, feeling him relax a little. “Not for long, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Wha – Oz – ”</p>
<p>Ozpin pulled Qrow through the door, dragging him to the front of the room, where he seemed to freeze in place at the audience before them.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen,” Ozpin said, loud enough for the chatter to die down. “Glynda. Qrow, you met Glynda, my partner. James Ironwood, her boyfriend and owner of the Iron Blade. Peter Port, whom you recall from the Axe and Blunderbuss. And Bart Oobleck, of Nitro. Of course you know your brother, Taiyang.”</p>
<p>Taiyang waved enthusiastically from the table.</p>
<p>“May I present my boyfriend, Qrow Branwen.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s eyes were wide, frozen on the others before slowly turning their alarmed expression on Ozpin, who smiled at him serenely.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Ozpin drawled, carelessly adjusting his glasses, “you all know him better as the Grim Eater.”</p>
<p>And he smiled at the look of sheer horror that fell over Qrow’s face.</p>
<p>“Now we are even, <em>mon poussin,”</em> Ozpin whispered, offering him a kiss on the cheek.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Qrow stood in Ozpin’s dining room, pretty sure that this was one of the worse circles of hell. All Ozpin’s friends – rich and distinguished, borderline famous – staring at Qrow with expressions like they had just seen a large cockroach crawl over their plates.<p>And then their eyes began to drift toward Oz, waiting for the punchline, or at least an explanation for an announcement that big. But no, Oz was content to fetch his glass of white wine from the table and sip, looking around as if to enjoy the shock on every face around him.</p>
<p>Well, not all – Glynda looked slightly amused, and Tai of course was grinning like an idiot.</p>
<p>
  <em>Must have gotten the Belladonnas to watch the girls.</em>
</p>
<p>Not that that felt very important now, with a lot of angry chefs looking at him like they wished they had their knives on them.</p>
<p>“This is a joke,” the big guy said at last. Ironwood, the sushi chef who could probably bench press Qrow and Tai and Ozpin at once.</p>
<p>Qrow broke out in a sweat.</p>
<p><em>“Non,”</em> Oz sang, sipping his wine.</p>
<p>The eyes returned, everyone but Glynda staring in the same frozen state as Qrow.</p>
<p>Until the panic kicked in.</p>
<p>He pushed the door open before he even knew he was moving, desperate to get away from the accusing eyes that spoke murder at him.</p>
<p>“Qrow!” Oz’s voice behind him, surprised – but why should he be? Of all the revenge plans, this was a good one, possibly too good, Qrow making it as far as the entryway before Oz caught up to him, grasping his hand, murmuring something in French that sounded as if he meant to comfort.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, English at last. “I thought – oh, you poor thing. Here, drink, drink.” He pushed his wine toward Qrow’s lips and he drank, recognizing the flavor from Ozpin’s tongue minutes before.</p>
<p>“You’re white as a ghost,” Oz murmured, placing a palm against his cheek. “I’m sorry, it was meant to be funny, and I see I have scared you half to death…” He kissed Qrow’s forehead and some amount of reason returned to Qrow.</p>
<p>“Hah hah,” Qrow said weakly, and Oz pressed his lips together, looking at Qrow with a sympathetic glance but also clearly holding back a laugh.</p>
<p>“Well,” Oz said softly. “If I thought you were truly capable of meaning those terrible things you wrote, I do not think so now. Come, come, darling. Sit down with us and have something to eat. You’re terribly pale.”</p>
<p>“You sure they’re not gonna kill me?” Qrow asked. It was supposed to be a joke but it came out strained, and Oz looked at him pityingly again.</p>
<p>“No, no. I will protect you.” Another soft press of Oz’s lips on his forehead and Qrow believed him. He tipped the rest of the wine down his throat and winced. “The wine is nice.”</p>
<p>“It’s from Loire Valley,” Oz said, leading him slowly back to the dining room. “Like me.”</p>
<p>“No wonder it’s good then,” Qrow said, managing half a smirk.</p>
<p>“Flatterer,” Ozpin said, with a smile. “I’m afraid perhaps I have gone too far yet again, and now I am back in your debt.”</p>
<p>Qrow shook his head. “I get what you were doing. And if you say they won’t kill me, then I can face the music. You don’t have to make it up to me.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I want to,” Oz murmured. “After they are gone.”</p>
<p>That perked Qrow up; he laughed, squeezing Oz’s hand. “Then I’ll face them all,” he said confidently.</p>
<p>“My brave knight,” Ozpin said quietly, pausing at the threshold to kiss him.</p>
<p>“Will you two stop making out and get back in here?”</p>
<p>Qrow and Ozpin jumped together at Glynda’s interruption, Oz biting his lip sheepishly.</p>
<p>“That was my fault,” he said.</p>
<p>“I was going to blame you one way or another,” Glynda said crossly. She glanced at Qrow and sighed. “Come in, please. I promise we will make them behave. Ozpin has already explained things to me, and I’ve grudgingly decided to forgive you if you make me believe it.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Tough crowd already.</em>
</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Qrow said, hoping that Oz could take the slim blonde with the severe eyes behind polished glasses if things went really, really bad.</p>
<p>
  <em>Probably not.</em>
</p>
<p>Tai was out of his seat when Qrow came back in, Oz leading him to the bar.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Tai asked, as Qrow accepted the glass of wine from Ozpin.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah,” he said, without being sure he meant it. His heart still felt off, but Oz’s closeness helped. Hell, even Tai being here helped, another friendly face among the rest. “Just not how I expected to meet Oz’s friends.”</p>
<p>“Me either,” Tai said, with a grin so stupidly pleased that Qrow laughed. </p>
<p>“Glad you’re here,” he said.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Tai said. “It’s a little unreal.”</p>
<p>“Why should it be?” Oz broke in, refilling his own glass. “You’re both chefs, at a gathering for chefs. It’s natural, is it not?”</p>
<p>“See, Oz, you say shit like that, but you don’t mean it,” Qrow protested. “We’re just…you know. Some guys with a food truck.”</p>
<p>“And once I washed dishes for a living,” Oz shrugged. “It’s true we run in different circles, but that does not mean you are less for it. By the way,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief, “why did you never review your own food truck?”</p>
<p>“What?” Tai said, looking alarmed. “Why would he do that? It would – ” His face went blank, and then a realization dawned over it.</p>
<p>“If the blog brings in business…” Oz said, letting his voice trail.</p>
<p>“That’s brilliant,” Tai breathed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, after this, I dunno if I want to keep the blog going,” Qrow muttered.</p>
<p>“What? No, come on, Qrow, think of what it could do for business – ”</p>
<p>“Think about it,” Oz said, with a faint smile, taking Qrow’s arm. “But for now, come and sit. Eat. Drink. And explain how your blog came to be. I promise my friends are merciful.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Qrow said, letting Oz lead him toward the table of executioners. “You guys ever fantasize about killing the writer of the blog?”</p>
<p>“Eh, perhaps one or two dozen times,” Ozpin said. “Sit here, next to me, and I will protect you.”</p>
<p>“Great,” Qrow said dryly, hazarding a glance at the stony expressions around him.</p>
<p>From beside him, Oz beamed.</p>
<p>Qrow sighed. “Okay, so. Uh. Hi. I’m Qrow…Oz’s boyfriend. And uh.” Another gulp of wine that probably cost more than his wallet and he pushed through the worst of it. “And yeah, I wrote <em>Peckish.”</em></p>
<p>The steeled stares remained; Tai looked distressed, but Glynda was starting to look amused, like his suffering was entertaining.</p>
<p>Fair, considering what he had written about her desserts.</p>
<p>“Just to throw it out there,” he continued hastily, “I didn’t mean a word of it. Some of you guys were targets because I knew your place really well. Others…I could afford with the money from the blog. High end places got more hits.” He ran a hand through his hair, waiting for Ozpin to jump to his rescue.</p>
<p>Oobleck, Port, and Ironwood exchanged glances.</p>
<p>“Then why?” Ironwood said at length. “Why even write it?”</p>
<p>Qrow took a long breath, an even longer sip of wine, and delved into the story. He didn’t leave anything out, even when Taiyang’s expression grew dark and then sad, bright eyes rimmed with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed. They never really talked about Summer’s passing, not like this, about the consequences to all of them, about how much Tai had fallen apart and relied on Qrow to keep the girls alive. But Tai being here helped the story, the others glancing at his devastated expression and their tension fading.</p>
<p>Hell, at the end of the story, Port had tears running into his mustache, failing to hide it behind a great stein of beer.</p>
<p>Qrow paused to take a sip of wine to whet his throat, and Ozpin softly broke in.</p>
<p>“So you see,” he said, “how easily I have forgiven him. I think, if we had families in need, we would do anything we could for them.”</p>
<p>“Aye!” Port said, fishing for a plaid handkerchief in his coat.</p>
<p>“Of course it makes sense hearing from your perspective,” Oobleck said. “And I understand.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well,” Ironwood said, clearing his throat. “I…”</p>
<p>“James,” Glynda said, her voice so severe that several men flinched. “You cannot possibly put your ego above what Qrow has gone through.”</p>
<p>Qrow’s eyebrows shot up; even Oz looked surprised.</p>
<p>Ironwood shifted in his seat. “No, of course not, dear.”</p>
<p>Glynda seemed satisfied by this, although Qrow caught the wary look Ironwood shot toward him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Only one to hold out on forgiveness. Not bad odds.</em>
</p>
<p>“I suppose,” Ironwood said, only slightly huffily, “that I understand Ozpin’s point.”</p>
<p>“How could I not let him make it up to me?” Oz said, with an elegant shrug.</p>
<p>“I’m sure he did,” Glynda said dryly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I’m good at blowjobs.”</p>
<p>Qrow almost didn’t realize he had spoken aloud, all the faces turning toward him as one. Oz’s mouth had dropped open, his face turning red at an impressive pace, beginning at both cheeks and spreading over his nose and down his throat.</p>
<p>And then Port laughed, a great guffaw that caused the others to break down as well, the shift of attention now on Ozpin, who spluttered incoherent and broken English in a bad attempt to refute Qrow’s blatant statement.</p>
<p>Qrow probably shouldn’t have been proud of it, but he was, grinning at Oz’s embarrassment like a kid in trouble.</p>
<p>“You – you!” Oz hissed, hands on his cheeks. “You shameless – ”</p>
<p>But with his hands hiding his face, he couldn’t stop Qrow from leaning in and kissing him. New laughter erupted, Oz struggling against the kiss for half a second, until his hands relaxed, and his mouth moved against Qrow’s.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” Oz whispered, still very red, but his eyes held that heavy expression that told Qrow he had won.</p>
<p>“You love me,” Qrow murmured back.</p>
<p><em>”Peut-être que je fais,”</em> Oz whispered. “But if I do, it is against my will.”</p>
<p>“Come now!” came Oobleck’s enthused voice. “No romantic secrets at the table, boys! Ozpin, I think your nephew is ready to serve dinner.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Oz said, his blush fading at the distraction. “Of course. Oscar, please. James, if you could help me move these plates…”</p>
<p>A small clamor erupted as everyone paused in their teasing and chatter to help Oscar serve. Qrow recognized a few of the dishes from <em>L'oeillet Vert,</em> Ozpin’s prized duck recipe and the wine-marinated chicken, and others that looked wholly new and adventurous. </p>
<p>“Hey, uh, Oscar,” Qrow said, as the boy placed a platter in front of him. “About the blog – ”</p>
<p>“Already explained, sir,” Oscar said, with an easy smile that remined Qrow of Ozpin. “Already forgotten.”</p>
<p>“Even so,” Qrow said. “Let me at least say sorry to your face.”</p>
<p>The boy’s smile deepened. “Accepted, sir.”</p>
<p>“Call me Qrow. I, uh, might be hangin’ around here a lot in the future.”</p>
<p>“I hope so, Qrow,” Oscar said. “Please enjoy.”</p>
<p>“Eh?” Oz interrupted. “You’re leaving? <em>Non,</em> you will join us. Glynda, pull him a seat out there.”</p>
<p>“But, Uncle Oz – ”</p>
<p>“You made this, and so you will enjoy it with us,” Oz said firmly. “Besides, if you are here, they will not tease me about inappropriate things.”</p>
<p>Qrow leaned over to Oz, whispering in his ear. “Not gonna stop me.”</p>
<p>Oz shot him a glare that Qrow knew he didn’t mean.</p>
<p>“Just wait until we’re alone,” Qrow continued. “I’m going to <em>ruin</em> you for this.”</p>
<p>Oz shivered, the blush returning, eyes asking the question Qrow knew he wouldn’t say out loud. And so Qrow obliged, murmuring details until Oz was bright red, fingers so tight around his wineglass that Qrow thought it might snap.</p>
<p>“Oi!” came Port’s roar, and both Qrow and Oz’s heads jerked up. “Nye romantic secrets! Ye heard Barty!”</p>
<p>“You had better mean all of that,” Oz murmured, before lifting his head and smiling innocently at the others.</p>
<p>Qrow’s mouth dropped open and he hurriedly closed it again, stealing glances at Ozpin and wondering – yet again – how the hell he had gotten so lucky.</p>
<p>He asked himself that all evening, until the others finally left and he didn’t care anymore. Luck or not, Ozpin was here and his, and he didn’t care what fate or life or whatever had in mind, so long as they could carry on. They made it back upstairs to the landing before Qrow pounced, Oz’s back hitting the wall so hard Qrow heard the breath leave him.</p>
<p>“So you did mean it,” Oz whispered, as Qrow kissed him, fingers already pulling at Ozpin’s buttons.</p>
<p>“I’m a man of my word,” Qrow growled, pulling them toward the bedroom. One of them, or both of them, managed to close the door, hands engaged with one another’s bodies, clothes coming off sloppily, unevenly, until Oz suddenly shifted and Qrow’s back hit the bed. Oz followed soon after, settling his knees and hands on either side of Qrow, gazing down with a soft expression.</p>
<p>Qrow reached up and took the glasses from Ozpin’s face, watching the crinkle of his eyes. “Did you mean it? Maybe being in love with me?”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Would it scare you off if I did?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Ozpin hummed, lowering himself down to offer Qrow a gentle kiss. “I do not know if I am in love yet,” he said softly, “but I will enjoy falling very much.”</p>
<p>The words were unbelievably warm, Qrow lifting his chin to deepen the kiss. “Me too, Oz,” he said, and rolled Ozpin over, no longer needing words to speak.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We finally finished this story! Thank you all so much for sticking through our final update! This was a fun little idea we were happy to flesh out, and a different dynamic for Ozpin and Qrow than we usually write. We hope you enjoyed! We'll be moving on to finishing up our other WIPs and (hopefully) "The Shining Beacon."</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! 💚</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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